


Refraction

by Arowen12



Category: The Bifrost Incident - The Mechanisms (Album), The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lyfrassir Edda is Jonathan Sims, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Polyamory, The Fears are from the Bifrost Incident, The Mechs are here queer and ready to cause problems, Trans Martin Blackwood, mentioned - Freeform, polycule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24703426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arowen12/pseuds/Arowen12
Summary: Jonathan Sims does not ride the subway, they braided their hair, and sometimes, just sometimes their eyes look like too many colours all at once. Jonathan Sims is also Lyfrassir Edda and the unknown squamous things which escaped the Bifrost have inhabited the Earth for far too long.
Relationships: Lyfrassir Edda/The Mechanisms Ensemble
Comments: 221
Kudos: 482
Collections: Identity Crisis, Mechanisms and Magnus Crossovers that maintain the integrity of mechanisms lore





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all I'm here with another fic, I couldn't get this idea out of my head as it just connects the Bifrost and the Magnus Archives perfectly. This was a bit inspired by the few other Lyfrassir as the Archivist fics but also not. A bit of warning for anyone squicked about the Corruption towards the end of the chapter. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy read on!

_“Are you sure about this Lyfrassir?” Marius questions, they are on the Aurora and she hums beneath his feet, she sounds almost mournful though Lyfrassir cannot tell why, or perhaps they are just in denial._

_“Yes. I… As the last survivor of the Bifrost it’s only right that I… No one else should have to experience that,” Lyfrassir replies softly feels Marius’ hand warm on their cheek, the rest of the crew is milling around, watching them with thinly veiled concern. Lyfrassir continues, “It won’t be that long, a hundred years is hardly a blink for you all.”_

_“Yes, but we’ll still miss you,” Raphaellea says one wing draping lightly against Lyfrassir’s shoulder. They smile and trail their fingers lightly over Raphaellea’s wings, the synthetic feathers soft beneath their fingers, watching as she shudders, Lyf doesn’t comment on the tears they can see._

_“I’ll be back before you know it, and if I take too long you can come and help,” Lyfrassir says patting Marius lightly on the cheek as Ivy loops her arms around their chest. Jonny cackles in the background and abruptly stops when Nastya hits him on the shoulder._

_“Careful, don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Ivy chides gently and then continues, “After all, there’s an 86.9 per cent chance Tim and Jon will take advantage of that.”_

_“Hey what’s life without a little murder and arson?” Jonny says pulling out his gun and aiming it at Nastya’s head, she just laughs._

_“Just be careful Lyfrassir,” Marius says softly drawing their attention back to him, he’s staring at him with those big eyes of his, the ones Lyf can’t say no to anymore, as he continues, “Doesn’t matter how immortal we are, we don’t mess lightly with the beings beyond reality.”_

_“I know,” Lyfrassir replies and presses a kiss to Marius’ cheek before they step back. It goes unsaid that Lyf is marked by one of those beings beyond reality._

_Their eyes sweep around the Aurora, Jonny is scowling at Nastya who is ignoring him, Tim and Ashes are talking in quiet voices watching them, the Toy Soldier waves with a wide smile as Brian stands silently beside it watching Lyfrassir. Raphaellea, Ivy, and Marius watch them, drinking them in as if it might be the last time, they see them. They pray it isn’t._

_They step onto the small ship and glance over their shoulder at their family. Then, the door closes and they are alone again._

_The dream shifts and Lyfrassir watches as Odin watches them through the Black Box, staring at them, unblinking, endlessly, eternally, watching._

Jonathan Sims wakes, the last remnants of their dream linger pressing away the nightmares that woke them earlier. They try to hold onto it, to remember the way Marius’ smiled at them, or the feel of Ivy’s arms wrapping around their chest. Instead, all they can see is Odin watching them, that one eye staring straight through them. Drawing a hand through their hair they rise braiding it as they go, few things are left of Midgard and they know it would perhaps be easier to forget about how much has been lost, how much history, language, knowledge, art was consumed by Yog Sothoth, but they can’t.

Ivy’s helped them archive as much as possible, but still, they carry what they can of what’s gone. They laugh as they run their fingers through their hair, Ivy would tease them horribly for becoming an Archivist, just as Jonny would probably be offended and happy that he’s taken his name in equal measure.

They miss them, miss the hum of the Aurora beneath their feet and around them. Misses running from whatever police force Jonny’s angered again (it’s strange to think they used to do that), or listening to the soft music Marius coaxes from his violin, Raphaellea’s laughter as she and Ivy help catalogue what they recall of the Yggdrasil system.

Shaking their head, they finish braiding their hair, they hold one of the braids in their hand for a long moment, just studying it, thinking of their mother coaxing her fingers through their hair while their mom watched and berated her; all gone now. They inhale and exhale. They are Lyfrassir Edda former Inspector 2nd class New Midgard Transport Police, and they are now Jonathan Sims, an orphan who lived with their grandmother, went to university and received a masters in Norse mythology along with paranormal studies, and now Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

They glance briefly at the mirror, their eyes are green today, they sigh, some days they are bright red, deep purples, acid yellow, tawny oranges, every colour in between and those that aren’t, the colours the human eyes can’t see, on those days they wear contacts. Sometimes the Bifrost seeps through their veins, glowing beneath their skin, those days they cover up as much as possible.

As they slip their coat on and step outside, they wonder if they’ve chosen the right path. There’s no guide book on how to hunt down eldritch entities and perhaps entering one’s domain wasn’t the wisest idea. Jon can still feel the eyes of Elias Bouchard, searching, trying to See them, they let him see the surface thoughts, worry about the job, his own inadequacies, what little they know of the entities, but nothing deeper; anything deeper and well what was left of Elias Bouchard wouldn’t have been pretty.

They step outside and hail a taxi, it would be faster and cheaper to take the subway, but Jon can’t go on trains anymore, not since the Bifrost. Every time they even draw close, they can hear it whispering through their head, the words attempting to trail off their tongue and swallow the world around them whole. It costs more but they take a taxi to work.

Ivy would have a fit at the state of the Archives, scratch that she would have multiple fits and would probably kill someone, Jon would be tempted to help. The Archives, to put it bluntly, are a mess, there are statements, research, and forms stuffed haphazardly onto the shelves or in boxes, they’re not sorted by date, by subject, or any conceivable filing system.

The previous Archivist, one Gertrude Robinson, never gave Jon the sense that she was incompetent, they never had the chance to meet her, but she reminded them of the stories of Dr. Carmilla that occasionally the Mechs would mention, usually deep in their cups. Jon rather has the sense that whatever system Gertrude used she left the place a mess on purpose.

That’s fine, they’ve listened to Ivy ramble about ‘library sciences’ and how to organize and archive often enough that they have a decent idea of what to do. Though, they get the sense that this position is anything but normal. It’s not like Jon was qualified in the first place though. As they step into the Archives, they can feel the weight of something watching them; it is not an unfamiliar feeling.

Of course, an eye can only see so far within itself and every eye has its blind spot. It probably doesn’t help that of course that the eye can only see a certain spectrum of light and colours, Jon just happens to be beyond that spectrum.

They have three assistants who arrive mostly on time, they’ve worked with Tim before in research, he’s nice, funny, and reminds Jon just faintly of Jonny, it is a bit confusing with all the double names. Sasha worked with Gertrude briefly before she disappeared, she seems competent and nice enough, which leaves Martin, Jon doesn’t know him but they get the sense that he’s woefully unprepared for the job, still, if he can do the work then Jon won’t mention it.

Jon sits carefully on one of the desks and observes their assistants for a long moment before they say, “Good morning, I’m Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, they/them pronouns, please. It seems Gertrude, the previous Archivist, left the Archives in quite the state. I’m still debating which system to use but for the moment we’ll organise them by the date I suppose. Are any of you familiar with Smirke’s fourteen fears?”

They decide to start at the beginning, they won’t let anyone die on their hands if they’re able. A part of them still carries the guilt that they weren’t able to warn anyone else, that they’re the only survivor. Sometimes they’ll hear a blip or a snippet of conversation and for a single moment, they hope that someone else is out there, that someone heard their warning, that they listened but always it’s nothing and they are alone. They won’t let that happen to their assistants.

“The whole thing with like the fourteen main fears, feed on our fears, really old, right?” Tim asks and when Jon nods, he continues listing them out, “The Eye, the Spiral, Web, Desolation, uh the Flesh? The Buried, the Vast, the Slaughter…”

“The Lonely, the End, the Dark, Corruption, the Stranger, and the Hunt, yes,” Jon finishes for Tim with a pleasant smile and glances around at the Archives before they continue, “I would familiarize yourself with the fears as I have no doubt they’ll appear in more than a few of the statements here.”

“Wait are you saying they’re real?” Sasha demands planting her hands on her hips studying Jon with narrow eyes.

They tilt their head and say carefully, “As far as I’m concerned some of the statements here are very real. I suspect you’ll know which ones those are.”

“Are we safe here?” Martin questions carefully, he crosses his arms over his chest as if to protect himself.

Jon’s expression softens as they study their assistants, the first inklings of fear are beginning to blossom and Jon thinks that was enough for one morning as they reply, “Safe enough, or at least safer than most others. Now I suspect some of these statements won’t cooperate with modern technology, any suggestions?”

“We could uh try using a tape recorder?” Martin suggests glancing around the Archives and anywhere but Jon.

“I think Gertrude has a few somewhere here don’t know if she ever used them,” Sasha says with a shrug studying the shelves with barely concealed horror. Jon can sympathise they’re really not looking forward to organizing everything. But when it’s done, well that will be nice they suppose.

“Alright, Martin see if you can find the tape recorders please, Tim and Sasha I’m putting you on organization duty at the moment, I suppose we’ll start anywhere and work our way out, so I guess just pick a box. I’ll be in my office,” Jon states and with a final nod turns and enters Gertrude’s office.

The room is neat, orderly, the kind of orderly that no one ever leaves behind, obviously the cleaners have been through. Jon walks into the room trailing their fingers over the walls, the shelves are stacked with boxes, they can see a torch and what might be a jug of gasoline in one corner. On the desk rests a few stacks of paper, Jon picks one paper up as they settle in the desk chair.

It’s a statement and Jon can feel the weight of the Watcher surrounding them as they open the desk drawers, inside there is a knife, yet more sheets of paper, a few books, one which hums with the sense of _other_ , and a tape recorder. They shake their head with a smile and press down on the red record button, they almost feel a bit nostalgic.

“Statement of Nathan Watts, regarding an encounter on Old Fishmarket Close, Edinburgh. Original statement given April 22nd 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement begins…”

Time passes quickly in the Archives, the hours slip away like fine sand in between statements and research. Jon gets _caught_ in the statements. It’s like they can’t look away, like the Black Box all over again. They have to _Know_ , have to find out more, read more. It’s like an addiction, and Jon thought they were past this, but apparently not. Curiosity killed the cat and satisfaction brought it back and all that.

Still, time passes all the same as Jon pieces together what they can of the fourteen entities, each statement, the real ones at least, are all aligned with an entity, and there are more than a few reoccurring names which Jon jots down on a list and tells their assistants to be wary of.

They nod and Jon can tell they believe them, it’s nice to have their trust. Tim continues to charm and flirt his way through whatever lead they have and always has a joke after a particularly heavy statement. Martin tries, though his work is usually lacking, he spends more hours and more effort than Jon might expect. Sasha continues to hand in competent research, she’ll sometimes study Jon when they debate about which system to organize the Archives with and she’ll ask, “I thought you didn’t have a degree in library sciences?”

“I don’t,” Jon replies with a shrug, they can hear Tim’s chair stop squeaking where he’s been spinning around on it, and even Martin, who has two mugs of tea in his hands pauses in the doorway.

“You don’t?” Sasha asks dubiously, her hands are planted on her hips. By all logic, she is the most qualified amongst them and should have been the Archivist. Jon isn’t sure why Elias chose them, perhaps curiosity, perhaps simple misogyny.

“No, I have a masters in Parapsychology and uh Norse mythology,” Jon replies with a shrug. The decision to study Norse mythology had been an impulsive one, but it had been far too interesting to resist. A thousand years shapes and shifts the narrative and they decided not to mention to Marius or the others the multiple breakdowns it might have incurred.

“Parapsychology I get boss, but why Norse mythology? No offence, you don’t look very uh Norse?” Tim questions leaning back so far in his chair Jon is half worried he’s going to fall out of it any minute.

“I’m not, technically,” Jon replies with a shrug and then continues, “They have some basis in reality and I wanted to see how accurate the modern interpretations of what happened are?”

“You make it sound like you actually know what happened Jon?” Martin says hesitantly as he sets one mug on his own desk and passes one to Jon.

“I do,” Jon replies with a grateful smile as they take the mug cupping it between their fingers and leaching the heat. It makes them miss the boiler room, which is always warm, and the Toy Soldier’s tea, which often doesn’t really taste like tea.

“You do?” Sasha says dubiously she’s studying Jon as if they’ve finally tripped off and into the deep end, that happened a long time ago, they nod, “And uh how do you know?”

“I was there,” Jon replies with a shrug and when that earns yet more dubious looks, and Martin’s concern they continue, “Technically it won’t actually happen for,” they pause to consider it, “Well roughly a couple hundred thousand years I suspect. But these things have a way of trickling? Echoing?”

“Jon that doesn’t explain how you were there and now you’re here in 2016,” Martin says patiently as if he’s talking to someone with dementia, or maybe a frightened animal.

They shrug wrapping their hands more tightly around the mug, there’s a cute cat emblazoned on the side, nothing like the Octokittens which hide in the depths of the Aurora. Considering it for a moment they finally reply, “No it doesn’t. But that’s really a story for another day. Unless you’d like me to get my cello?”

Jon is half certain it is in storage somewhere, tucked away and only brought out to polish and clean every once and a while. There’s no point playing without the others really, Jon’s never been much of a singer. He almost misses Marius’ violin, which is sad.

“What does a cello have to do with anything?” Tim questions and now he sounds more amused if still confused.

“Quite a lot and nothing at all,” Jon replies taking a slow sip of the tea, Martin has rather perfected it which is more than reason enough to keep him on. It still makes him wish for food from home, Marius tried to recreate a dish, it went rather terribly and may have started glowing ominous colours.

“You’re rather strange Jon, you know that?” Sasha says in a frustrated tone, the kind she usually gets when there’s a puzzle or a mystery she can’t solve.

“Yes, I rather suspect I am,” Jon replies with a shrug and then with a teasing grin he asks, “Have you started to compile a list? I’d be interested to hear your theories?”

“I’m betting on aliens,” Tim says with a chuckle and Jon just hums with a raised brow, he thinks Ashes would get a kick out of this situation. Sasha rolls her eyes as if they’ve already had this conversation multiple times.

“I don’t have a definite conclusion yet,” Sasha says with a huff, idly twirling one pen between her fingers as she studies Jon before she continues, “But I suspect you aren’t going to give us a straight answer either?”

Jon tilts their head for a moment considering it before they reply, “As I said, perhaps later, it’s a long story,” They pause their chest heavy for a moment, they can feel it’s gaping hunger pounding like a drum beneath his skin, “One best not repeated often.”

Sasha rolls her eyes and mutters something about them being dramatic under her breath when the door to the Archives swings open. There is a woman in the doorway, short with blue tips to her hair and a few piercings, she scowls as she surveys the room.

“This is where I can give a statement right?” She asks crossing her arms over her chest observing the four of them with narrow eyes.

“Yes, I’m the Archivist, if you’ll just follow me to my office?” Jon offers with what they hope is a pleasant smile, they’ve modelled it mostly after the Toy Soldier’s who is excellent at smiling regardless of the circumstances.

“Yeah sure, why not,” The woman says stepping farther into the Archives.

“Martin, if you could look into the Vittery statement? I left it on your desk, thank you,” Jon calls over their shoulder as they lead the woman inside their office. The office itself is somehow both less and more organized than since they’ve first moved in and they can feel the woman’s eyes tracking everything as they settle at the desk.

“Please take a seat Ms…?”

“King, Melanie King,” The woman, Melanie replies with a nod as she slouches into the seat kicking her legs over one of the chairs she asks, “Are you going to believe me?”

“We research all of our statements Ms. King,” Jon says carefully as they pull out a tape recorder and set it on the desk, “You must understand of course, that we receive some… _interesting_ statements.”

Melanie huffs crossing her arms over her chest she narrows her eyes at Jon before with a shake of her head and a sigh she says, “Fine, I’ll tell you my story.”

“Thank you, statement of Melanie King…”

When Melanie is finished giving her statement, her face looks slightly clearer and she leans back in the chair with a raised brow as Jon asks, “You’re certain her name was Sarah Carpenter?”

“Yeah, a friend recommended her,” Melanie replies in a bored tone as Jon rises to their feet and pulls out one of the boxes stacked on their shelves, they feel almost full, sated, like after a good meal. Melanie continues, “And, do you believe me?”

“I do,” Jon replies simply pulling out the correct statement and settling back at their desk. They glance up at Melanie and catch surprise collecting on her features as she blinks before her expression twists, Jon sighs and continues, “It’s very likely that what you encountered was very dangerous. I would be very careful if I were you Ms. King if you investigate these, ‘ghosts’ further.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Melanie replies glancing at the sheet where Jon is underlining Sarah Carpenter’s name on the supplementary information sheet.

“Yes, but I rather suspect its better you don’t know in this case Ms. King, I would also advise you to stay away from Sarah Carpenter,” Jon replies as they jot the name down on their sheet and make a mental note to inform their assistants.

Melanie studies them for a long moment before she huffs and rises to her feet crossing her arms over her chest, “Thanks,” she says quietly accompanied by a roll of her eyes before she turns and exits their office.

In her wake, Elias Bouchard stands, studying Jon with a pleasant demeanour as they set aside the Anglerfish statement.

“Mr. Bouchard, what can I do for you today?” Jon asks with a pleasant smile once again emulating the Toy Soldier. Elias winces for a second, just a second, and Jon cannot help but wonder if it is the fact that their eyes are icy blue today, they don’t look wrong, but the ones in Elias Bouchard’s skull do.

Elias recovers quickly and with an equally pleasant smile responds, “I thought I would come and check on how our Archivist is settling in?”

“Excellent thank you,” Jon replies with a smile carefully spreading their hands on top of their desk.

“That’s good to hear, please let me know if you have any problems or any questions,” Elias replies his hands pressed behind the back of his immaculately tailored suit.

Jon tilts their head considering Elias’ words for a long moment before they smile and say, “Would you say the Institute is well protected? Martin had some concerns.”

“It is perfectly safe, nothing that shouldn’t be here isn’t,” Elias responds cheerily but his eyes glint like flint and sheathed steel with promise.

“Of course,” Jon replies with a concise tilt of their head. They watch as Elias walks out of their office and cannot help the feeling that whatever is going on the Institute, it will probably make an excellent story.

Something is very _wrong_ , it is the same pervasive sense Jon had the day the Ratatosk Express pulled in, 80 years late. That thick sense of dread which hangs like a heavy winter cloak upon their shoulders, weighing them done with the knowledge that something is very wrong.

Jon pauses with a sigh and sets the research they were looking over on their desk, they feel distracted today, stretched too thin by that aching sense of wrong, like cold seeping into their very bones. Rising to their feet they scrub a hand through their braids, they need tea and Martin’s been out sick for the past few days, out with a bug of some sort.

Sasha is the only one in the office, Tim off on lunch break, filling the room with the click-clack of keys which pause as Sasha glances up at him. She raises a brow, a sort of commiserating look to her features as she asks, “Long day?”

“You could say that,” Jon replies rubbing at their eyes before hastily tugging their sleeves down when a prism of colours tries to escape, “Do you uh… have you heard from Martin recently?”

Sasha raises a brow and shakes her head with a frown twirling a pen between her fingers as she replies, “No, not since you sent him to look into the Vittery statement last week. I got a text that he was sick though.”

“Me too, I’m worried,” Jon says with a sigh leaning against Tim’s desk as they cross their arms over their chest.

“You could always go and check on him?” Sasha suggests and then with a wink she says, “I know where his address is.”

“Why do you know where Martin lives?” Jon asks with a roll of their eyes carefully weighing the idea, if Martin is sick, he probably would appreciate some company, and if he’s fine and just needed a break then Jon doesn’t have to worry anymore.

“We all went drinking and his place was the closest,” Sasha admits with a shake of her head and then softer, “You know you’re more than welcome to join us, Jon?”

“I know, I appreciate the offer, Sasha, I’m just not much of a fan of alcohol,” Jon replies with a soft smile, it's true they were never much of a drinker on Midgard, and the stuff on Earth is far too weak to even consider.

Sasha just rolls her eyes before she pauses, “There was a delivery today to Artefact Storage, the names on the list you gave us, uh Breekon and Hope, they delivered a table, kind of reminds me of the one from the Patel case, and uh this is for you?”

She holds out a package, a small box which Jon hesitantly takes, weighing it in their hands for a long moment as they ask, “Where’s the table being kept?”

“I told Carl he should probably move it to one of the more secure rooms, and I’ve shared the corresponding statement with Artefact Storage. Do you think it’s dangerous, that whatever got Folger is following the table?” Sasha asks leaning back in her chair and chewing on the edge of her pen.

Jon glances down at the box in his hands and begins to carefully open it as he replies, “Dangerous, certainly. Whether whatever it is followed the table? I can’t say. I would avoid it for now if I was you, Sasha, mention that to Tim for me, would you? I think I’ll go and check on Martin.”

“Sure thing. So, what is it?” Sasha asks leaning forward to peer inside the box.

Jon pulls the lighter out, gold with a spider-web design embossed on the side, they run their thumb carefully over it, they’ve quit smoking. Still, they tuck it into their pocket with a hum and reply, “A gift from the Web I suspect.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Sasha teases as Jon shrugs on their coat, she passes him a slip of paper with Martin’s address. They roll their eyes and with a wave over their shoulder exit the Archives.

Martin’s apartment block is tiny, tucked out of the way with red brick and a bit of ivy crawling up the side. It also rings with a sense of _other_ so thick, Jon can practically taste the rot of it on their tongue. They pause, they haven’t brought anything that might deal with an entity or its avatar and though they suspect the Corruption, that does little in the way of answers.

But Martin’s in there.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jon lets the Bifrost which hums and shines like a hymn beneath their skin out as they enter the apartment complex. It is quiet, the unnatural quiet of a lack of anything alive as Jon climbs the steps.

Martin lives on the fourth floor and it is there that Jon sees the first worm, a pale white thing, more akin to a maggot than a worm, which begins to lurch towards them with a writhing sound. Jon crushes it beneath their boot and walks slowly forward.

The sound of knocking begins to grow louder as Jon walks carefully towards Martin’s door, as do the number of worms clogging up the hallways writhing slowly towards him. Jon turns the corner and stares at the entity formerly known as Jane Prentiss.

The knocking pauses and Prentiss turns slowly, the sort of shuffling motion of those zombie movies Georgie showed them. Prentiss tilts her head studying Jon, whose skin has begun to glow with the Bifrost, they can hear it in their mind.

For one long moment they stare at each other, two squamous, crawling, wretched things. Then, Prentiss turns and slinks into the darkness at the of the halls, the worms linger writhing towards Jon as they knock on Martin’s door.

“It’s Jon,” They say quietly squishing a worm beneath their shoes with a grimace. They’ve never been a fan of disease or pests.

“Is she gone?” Martin demands, his voice is barely a whisper and so very scared.

“For now,” Jon says and the door swings open revealing Martin’s terrified expression, he’s pale and his hair is in disarray as he stares at Jon with wide eyes and relief. Martin makes a sound deep from within his chest like a sob and Jon steps forward and tugs him into a hug.

“I-I was so scared Jon,” Martin says into their shirt, clutching at their back.

“You’re safe now,” Jon says softly rubbing a hand soothingly up and down Martin’s back like Marius will do when Jon can’t get out of their own head. Jon pulls back slightly and says carefully, “You can stay at the Archives for now if you’d like?”

“Okay I-uh I’d like that,” Martin says with a smile, Jon can’t help but smile back.

  
“Sasha are you okay?” Jon demands as she stumbles into their office, her hair is in disarray, and she’s bleeding. Martin will no doubt be by with a first-aid kit in a few minutes but for now, it’s just the two of them.

She inhales rubbing her hands over arms as she carefully swallows, her eyes darting around their office as she asks, “You remember that one statement giver Helen?”

“I… yes,” Jon admits quietly thinking of the poor woman, the touch of one of those beyond reality had been bright around her, twisting endlessly, senselessly, melting reality into something unshaped, wrong. Jon Knows that she did not escape the being known as Michael and even now she is lost in its corridors.

“The being from, from her statement Michael? I was… Can I give a statement Jon?” Sasha asks quietly she looks tired, they’ve all been tired lately. Paranoid with the worms that keep stealing into the Archives. Jon cannot help but think of Elias’ words and Know that whatever is happening, Elias wants it to.

“Yes, of course, Sasha,” Jon says gently reaching out to carefully rest their hand on top of hers for a moment before the door to the office creaks open and Martin shuffles in with a first-aid kit. Martin smiles at both of them looking drawn and weary; its hard not having a home.

They sit in silence for a long moment as Martin carefully patches Sasha’s cuts and scrapes before Martin asks, “Do… when do you think this will be over?”

“I’m not sure Martin, I’m not sure but hopefully soon,” Jon says quietly with a shake of their head before they lean back and open their desk drawer and pull out a tape recorder. They always seem to be on hand these days, more often than not they roll without them even touching it.

“Is that a gun, Jon?” Sasha asks leaning forward to look inside his desk drawer, where indeed, there is a gun. One of Tim’s which had been entrusted to them with a multitude of threats followed by careful lessons on how to handle it.

“Uh yes?” Jon replies as they carefully slide the drawer shut glancing up at his assistants.

“Doesn’t look like any gun I’ve seen before,” Martin says casually as he finishes wrapping up Sasha and closes up the first-aid kit.

“It isn’t,” Jon says cheerily and nods to Martin as he shuts the door behind him before returning their attention to Sasha, “Would you like to give your statement now?”

“You’re really not going to explain?” Sasha demands with a fond roll of her eyes, before continuing, “Of course not, alright let’s begin.”

“Statement of Sasha Jones regarding…”

The events leading up to the three of them hiding in an unused office while a literal swarm of worms’ crowd outside the door and Martin pulls worms out of Jon’s leg using a corkscrew is a bit of a blur starting with an accidental fist through the wall and ending well here.

Jon pants through the pain, knowing that they have been through far worse does not make it hurt less, it’s not even as bad as the time they were shot with a plasma gun on Midgard, they still have that scar. Martin keeps up a steady stream of apologies and quiet words as he pulls the last worm out and dumps it on the ground where Sasha quickly sprays it with Co2.

“That’s the last of them,” Martin says and carefully pats Jon on the arm, none of them mention how the skin is already healing over, though it will scar. These sorts of things always do.

“Can you see Prentiss out there, Sasha?” Jon asks gasping for breath and carefully resting their leg on the ground.

“I… yes, I can see her she’s at the end of the hallway. What does she even want?” Sasha asks as she turns away from the door, she’s pale and her hair is tangled about her head where she stares at Jon silently asking him to do _something._

“I’m not exactly certain,” Jon replies in a murmur, that uncertainty lingers, it bubbles beneath his skin, like the words to a summoning he knows but will _never_ say.

“Wait, what about Tim?” Martin demands suddenly where he’s leaning close to Jon still keeping an eye on them.

“Oh gods,” Sasha says scrubbing a hand over her face she continues, “He’s still on his lunch break. He doesn’t know.”

“Can you see him out there?” Martin demands and Sasha twists back towards the darkened glass, there are only a few patches of fluorescent light seeping in through the hallways.

Sasha turns and shakes her head even as she asks, “Not yet, but he’ll be back soon. What are we going to do?”

“Elias, he installed a new fire system, Co2 suppression, if we can get to it, it will probably kill Prentiss and the worms,” Jon says carefully and slowly begins to lever themself up. Martin makes a wounded noise but doesn’t protest only lending a hand.

“So, we just have to get out of here without Prentiss noticing us, no big deal,” Sasha says with a sad laugh, staring at Jon with wide eyes before she turns to look out into the hallway once more.

“I can distract her,” Jon says quietly and they _Know_ it’s true, they Know what they have to do.

“Jon!” Martin says turning to face with wide eyes as he continues, “You could die.”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve seen things far worse than Jane Prentiss, I’ve lived far worse,” Jon says as they rise fully to their feet, pulling their shoulders back and letting the touch of the Bifrost bubble and break beneath their skin.

“Jon,” Martin says softly, there’s so much behind that one word but they don’t have the time to unpack it now.

“Tim!” Sasha says suddenly, desperately, she continues, “Tim, no get out! He’s coming down the hallway.”

“He can’t hear us,” Jon says and steps forward pausing with their hand on the doorway they turn to their assistants, “When I step out, I want you both to grab Tim and run. Find Elias if you can or find the fire suppression system, it will be on the first floor in the system control room. Do _not_ get separated, stay together.”

“Jon you can’t seriously be considering this,” Sasha says softly as Martin carefully rises to his feet moving to stand beside Jon.

They quirk a smile over their shoulder at Sasha and says, “If I die you should be my successor. But relax I probably won’t die and you might not even need the fire suppression system. Now, let’s go. Move quickly.”

Jon bangs the door open, can see Tim walking forward humming under his breath unaware of the worms literally crawling towards him or the figure of Prentiss at the other end of the hallway. Jon’s opinion of Tim has understandably gone down. However, they don’t have time for distractions and can only pray their assistants get out.

Inhaling, Jon walks forward towards Prentiss, uncaring of the worms attempting to burrow beneath their skin. She studies them, her head tilted on an angle that’s all wrong as the colours of the Bifrost dance like shadows across the walls.

Another stalemate, another moment of like recognising like. But while Prentiss was touched by a thing beyond reality, Jon was touched by _the_ thing beyond reality, that which consumes, and claws, and destroys, and watches, and ends all.

Prentiss lunges forward and Jon steps forward, plunging one hand into the spongy material of her chest they pull. It is like pulling the roots of a particularly stubborn plant, but Jon does not hesitate and tugs again.

With a sound which rends and rips through the very fabric of reality itself, Jon pulls out that which Corrupts, it who is sickness, and filth, it which is crawling and creeping, rot and terror, that which lingers and seeps, and infiltrates.

Prentiss stumbles back as the thing in their hands beats like a heart, the yellow miasma of sickness filling the hallway and dissolving skin as easily as candyfloss in water. Roots like neurons trails from Prentiss and into the ground as that which is shapeless and full of shape twists and wreathes in Jon’s grasp. It is a nameless thing, a thing which cannot be described, but know it is squamous, it is that which lives beyond reality and feeds on fear.

They glance into Prentiss’ eyes as Yog Sothoth hums through their ears, asking, begging, pleading. They crush the Corruption between the bones of their fingers which have begun to rot.

All around the world, certain books crumble to dust, John Amherst and other avatars of that which corrupts and burrows and crawls, fall dead suddenly and without warning, the very flesh melting from their bones, which crack open and shatters.

The fear of that which corrupts, the diseases that linger on uncleaned surfaces, that which turns one’s body into its own enemy, the pests which bring with them an endless swarm remains, but no longer does it feed that which is beyond reality.

Jon stumbles backwards as the flesh regenerates around their hands, they feel the words pressing behind their tongue and swallow them down as they collapse to their knees. Only vaguely do they notice that the worms are gone as is Prentiss but for fragments of bones.

Then, they know nothing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, I'm not sure when I'll be able to post the next one as I need to finish my other two TMA fics first. Also if I messed Jon's pronouns up please let me know, I'm used to writing Jon with he/him not they/them. Let me know what you all thought, comments are always appreciated! Till next time.
> 
> *Also there's fanart for this fic now y'all! I am in awe, check out camphorcapstan on tumblr or click the link https://camphorcapstan.tumblr.com/post/629909188812865536/lyfrassir-edda-as-the-archivist-destroying-jane


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone, we are back! I'm sorry this chapter took so long, I had to finish some other fics first and then my motivation kind of completely abandoned me for a bit. But we're back and this chapter is extra-long and extra fun. I don't really know how long this fic is going to be, at least 3-4 chapters probably. Oh also apologies if I mess up Jon's pronouns anywhere, just let me know and I'll fix them. Anyway, read on and enjoy!

In that short sweet space between conscious and waking Jon dreams. They dream of the Aurora, of listening to Marius as he rambles on about psychoanalysing gods and different species, the nights in the kitchen with Ivy a shared mug of tea between the two of them, Raphaellea laughing as they hand her a syringe. Of Ashes laughing and dealing out a deck with ease, Tim showing him how to use the new guns they picked up. Brian sitting at the helm, staring at the depths of space with something sad until Lyf speaks up. Jonny arguing with the Toy Soldier as he stitches Lyf’s old uniform with a half-smile.

Then they dream what once might have been the All Mother staring straight at them. Her eye is Knowing, it is not _right_ too deep, or perhaps the pupil too wide, maybe just that which devours staring out at them. She smiles, a curve of her lips that stretches and stretches and doesn’t stop. What once was the All Mother, looks _pleased._

Conscious returns abruptly and with all the force of that one occasion, they tried Jonny’s moonshine.

They jerk forward only for someone’s arm to wrap carefully around their chest pushing them gently back to the hard ground, a voice, a familiar one says, “Hey stay still okay? You’re bleeding, but the paramedics are supposed to be here soon.”

Lyfrassir- Jon blinks dots of colour, waves of light, out of their eyes and stares up at Martin. He’s pale and a bit clammy but when he notices Jon’s attention he smiles, it’s a warm smile, Jon’s never really noticed how warm it is. It lights up Martin’s whole face pulling at the corners of his eyes, the crinkle of his forehead, the dimples of his cheeks.

“How are you feeling?” Martin questions gently and Jon blinks forcing their head back into place.

Right. Prentis.

They’re lying on the floor of the Archives, which by the way is uncomfortable and a tad bit cold, there aren’t any worms scattered about which Jon supposes is a mercy, and from what they can see it’s just the two of them.

They blink. There was a question yes? How do they feel?

Bad.

Their body decides to tell them, very bad. It feels as if they’ve pulled every muscle in their body, and some that don’t even exist, they feel like one lump of pain. Martin shifts them carefully and they blink tilting their head to glance down at their body, there are some holes in his body that weren’t there before.

The holes are carefully sealing over leaving patches of scarred skin in their wake and Jon can’t find the energy to care except for a brief thought of what the crew might think when they come back looking like they went through a shredder.

“Jon?”

Right question.

“I-it’s painful but I’m alright. Where are the others?” Jon questions coughing to clear their throat of the taste of dust and decay, the fever heat of sickness. They blink away the shifting undulating colours of the Bifrost which dance across their vision and ground themselves in the weight of Martin’s arm carefully wrapped around their back.

“Sasha and Tim are out with Elias waiting for the ambulance and the police,” Martin says carefully, he’s biting his lip and glancing down the empty corridors before he adds, “We ran into Elias but we got separated from him… there are – did you know there are tunnels underneath the Institute?” Jon shakes their head, “Well there are. They’re really creepy,” Martin pauses and inhales glancing away from Jon, “We uh found Gertrude’s body – in the tunnels? She was just… just sitting there with some tapes, Tim took those and put them in a different room because and I quote ‘Jon is a paranoid bastard’,” they laugh, “Then we stumbled back out into the control area and Sasha figured out the switch. What happened Jon?”

They glance away for a long moment so they don’t have to see the earnest expression Martin is no doubt sporting, they focus for a second on just breathing through the pain, the pulsing headache that’s beginning to grow before they reply, “We won’t have to worry about Prentis anymore. Or the Corruption.”

Martin pauses for a moment, processing that statement before his head hinges forward a few inches and he asks, “Jon, what does that mean?”

They shrug and immediately regret the movement their face scrunching up in pain. They ride the waves of it until they can breathe again and they catch a glimpse of Martin studying them with narrow eyes before they force half a smile onto their face and reply, “I meant exactly what I said. The Corruption is gone.”

“What like the whole entity?” Martin demands carefully shifting Jon’s body and apologising at each wince and pained grimace.

“Basically?” Jon replies swallowing and wishing they could have some tea, or anything really, before they continue, “There will always be a fear of disease or pests, human fear is well… natural. But the entity itself? It’s avatars, it’s statements? The more ‘supernatural’ occurrences are over.”

Martin’s mouth opens and closes for a minute, doing a fine impression of a fish before he gasps out, “How?”

“That’s a bit more difficult to explain,” Jon replies carefully, unsure how to even phrase it.

Martin frowns and bites his lip studying Jon for another long minute of silence before he says, “One of those things you’ll tell us eventually?”

“I-yes. Soon…This, I – maybe I’ve made a mistake. This will… it will create a power gap, Elias, he’ll See…” Jon trails off trying to get enough air into their lungs they lean their head carefully against Martin’s chest.

“Hey, you got rid of something that preys on people’s fears that’s a good thing,” Martin says gently with another one of those warm smiles.

“I-yes thank you, Martin,” Jon responds with a faint smile, “I just perhaps should have thought this through better.”

“No changing the past,” Martin says with a little shrug of his shoulders. Faintly, Jon can hear footsteps and the sound of voices even as he nods something bittersweet to those words; there is no changing the past.

“You all got out alive and that’s what’s important,” Jon says quietly glancing up at Martin who smiles all warmth and for a moment they think it all might actually be okay. Then the sound of footsteps grows louder, and Jon tilts his head glancing down the corridor where the paramedics are, Elias is leading them.

For a brief second, their eyes lock, and Jon Knows that Elias Saw everything.

Then the paramedics cross their field of vision and all Jon is left with as they carefully lift their body onto a gurney is a cold pit of fear burrowing into their stomach. All they can think of, all they can see is Odin staring at them.

Martin’s hand loops through theirs and they suck a rattling breath in and banish the fear; it doesn’t control them any longer.

They get the call as their walking to work, their first day back to work after a week of agonising over the new scars and researching what leads they could find.

They maybe chose to walk so they could gather their thoughts, prepare for the inevitable, mostly they’ve been internally complaining about the bitter cold and missing their home; Midgard had invested early on in external climate-controlled systems so the winters and summers were never quite as bad as they could have been.

The phone jingles, something mechanical and mass-produced as they dig their phone out of their pocket, there’s no caller id and Jon knows with an utter certainty if someone tried to trace the call it wouldn’t lead to anywhere on earth.

“Hello?” Jon calls as they cross the street, waving to a passing car.

“Good morning Inspector Lyf,” Marius’ voice teases across the phone, there’s a cacophony of sound in the background and Lyf feels like they’ve come home just a little bit. It aches somewhere in his chest just hearing his voice again.

They laugh shaking their head as they cradle the phone to their ear and respond, “Not really an inspector anymore Von Raum, Archivist now.”

“Well we already have an Archivist, so you’ll just have to be the Inspector instead,” Marius replies primly, there’s the sound of a scuffle in the background followed by a sigh before Marius continues, “We’ve missed you Lyf.”

“I’ve missed you all too,” Lyf says the words thick and caught up in their throat, they’ve gotten better at talking about emotions, about their feelings, but well, there’s still a certain amount of difficulty to such vulnerability. They shake their head as they cross the street remembering the days where they would sit in one of the storage closets for hours after one of the crew kissed them, just trying to process it.

Marius hums something warm and fond before he continues, “How are things going? Do you need us to intervene yet? Tim and Jonny have been arguing.”

“Things have been… fine,” Lyf replies, in the distance they can see the Institute, looming even amidst London’s reaching buildings, “I’ve dealt with one of the – beings already,” they pause, “I’ll let you know the moment I need you all.”

There’s silence for a long moment followed by a sigh and then, “We trust you Lyf, even if you’ll probably wait to the actual last minute and most dire situation to call us in.”

“It’s about the dramatic tension,” Lyf jokes carefully as they slip into an alleyway across from the Institute and pull out their pack of cigarettes. They juggle for a moment as they stick one into their mouth and a smile crinkles the corners of their lips as Marius laughs.

“Yeah it’s pretty interesting narrative-wise,” Marius agrees as they light their cigarette inhaling and feeling the faint burning sensation, it’s better than the pain that lances faintly through their arms as they tuck the lighter away, “Maybe we’ll do another album based off this.”

“Am I getting royalties this time?” Lyf questions taking another drag on the cigarette, they can feel the sensation of Elias’ eyes settled on their shoulders.

“’Course not you freeloader,” Marius replies as there’s a large crash in the background and the sound of either Nastya or Ivy yelling, hard to tell through the faint static of the call.

“That’s rich coming from the doctor without a licence,” Lyf retorts stubbing out the cigarette beneath their toes.

“On a technicality!” Marius protests followed by another louder crashing sound and a burst of static, Marius sighs, “I should go, Tim and Ashes are trying to blow something up, again. Give us a call anytime Lyf.”

“I know, stay safe,” Lyf replies desperately wishing they could be home again, what little of it they have left.

“That’s rich, be careful Lyf,” Marius replies and the call ends with a beep. They pause staring at the screen of their phone before with a sigh they shove it in their pocket and square their shoulders; time to face the music.

The Institute is always cool, not cold, just the cool of temperature-controlled office buildings, stale with the dreary sort of air of grey London air. Jon pauses for a moment debating returning to the Archives first and waiting for a summons for the inevitable confrontation.

With a frown, they turn towards the central staircase.

Rosie nods at them with a pleasant smile and says, “He’s expecting you.”

Jon just nods and steps into Elias’ office. The walls are high and the room has the sort of empty that an avatar of the Lonely would like, all lined with dark wood and portraits that draw the eye to the desk at the centre of the room.

Elias is sitting at that desk, signing a few sheets, and feigning ignorance of Jon’s presence as only the dull scratch of pen on paper fills the room. Inhaling, Jon walks slowly forward, their shoes echo off the wood floor.

“Jon,” Elias greets setting down his pen and gesturing at the uncomfortable looking chair across from the desk, there is a pleasant expression on his face that attempts to hide the hunger in his eyes.

“Elias,” They reply quietly as they settle in the wooden chair with angles that dig into his back, “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes, I did,” Elias states, a pause, then, “I must say your performance in the Prentis incident was rather… interesting.”

“I’m sure that’s one way to put it,” Jon replies mildly before with a sigh they say, “Get to the point Elias.”

“There’s no need to be rude Jon,” Elias chides with a smug smile before he steeples his hands in front of him and continues, “How about we start with the fact that as far as I can See the Corruption as a whole is completely gone and you seem to be the cause.”

Jon blinks, lips pressed together staring Elias.

“Would you like to tell me how that happened, Jon?” Elias asks pleasantly before he continues, “If not I can always See it.”

“I don’t think you can actually,” Jon replies glancing up into Elias' eyes and letting a hint of the Bifrost shine through for a fraction of a second before they continue, “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened.”

Elias’ brows furrow and the corners of his lips twitch for just a minute before he tilts his head and replies, “It appears you somehow have the power to banish entities from Earth or at least the physical plane, I suspect this could be a new entity or something beyond the scope of the Eye’s knowledge.”

“Or perhaps it just doesn’t want to tell you,” Jon replies neither confirming nor denying anything.

“I doubt that,” Elias smiles, it is not a nice smile, “Do you want to know why Jon? Because the Eye is interested in its Archivist, it Knows that you could bring its ritual about, you could bring the entities forth.”

Jon swallows, this, this is what they’ve feared. The words, those words that echo through their nightmares, the cascading light of the Bifrost dancing behind their eyes, tantalising, promising, enticing, and all they would have to do is say those words once more.

“Do you want to know what I know Elias?” Jon questions rising to their feet and leaning across the desk to stare into Elias’ eyes, “I Know who you are Jonah Magnus and I will _never_ bring about that which you seek. Do you think the Eye will save you? Elevate you? You are worth less than nothing in their eyes.”

For a moment there is an inkling of true fear before it is deeply submerged beneath a pleasant smile, “Killing me changes nothing.”

Jon pushes away from the desk with a shake of their head, “I can do to the Eye what I did to the Corruption,” Jon pauses glances up at Elias’ face, “Remember that before you think of dealing with me like Gertrude. I’m not as easy to kill. I suggest you keep your distance.”

Shutting the door behind him is a satisfying feeling that helps to mask the somewhat rising panic flushing through their system. Jon nods to Rosie and focuses on their breathing, pushing the words which linger down until they can ignore them.

They have time still, Elias will retreat for a little while, the servants of the Eye always prefer to watch. Scrubbing a hand over their face they exhale, it’s time to return to the Archives.

Stepping into the Archives is like in some ways stepping onto the Aurora once more, there’s a sense of something comforting to the dusty air, to the crowded shelves, a sense of a space made ones own. Whether that is what the Eye wants or just the simple nature of the place Jon isn’t sure.

When they step into the Archives its to Sasha sitting at her desk staring quietly at a mug of tea, one hand idly wrapped around it, the other curled up in a fist with a few bandages on it. Tim is leaning back in his chair idly studying the ceiling overhead with a distant expression and Jon can’t help but notice the few band-aids still plastered over his skin. Martin steps out of the small breakroom just as Jon arrives, he has a few mugs of tea in hand and is aptly the first to notice Jon.

“You’re not usually late boss,” Tim says first, his eyes flicking over Jon, the pockmarked scars that now litter their skin, maybe just their tired expression.

Jon tries to smile and probably fails a little as they reply, “I had a meeting with Elias…” they pause for a moment considering before they continue, “Be careful around Elias he isn’t what he seems. I doubt- or rather I think he cannot See in the tunnels beneath the Institute but I’m not certain.”

“Can we talk about that actually?” Sasha questions sitting up properly and studying Jon with narrow eyes.

“I – yes? What would you like to talk about?” Jon replies carefully as they settle in one of the extra desk chairs feeling oddly as if they are on the other end of an interrogation. Martin would probably be the good cop in this situation.

“You said you didn’t know about the tunnels,” Martin says, it’s not really a question just an open-ended statement, he’s giving Jon something to work with and they can’t resist flashing the man a faint smile.

“I didn’t know about them, in all honesty, my knowledge of… well, everything is rather spotty,” Jon replies carefully, a part of them itches to duck into their office, avoid this whole confrontation and read another statement.

“Did you know about Gertrude?” Sasha questions carefully, her arms crossed over her chest.

“That she was dead? Yes. That her body was in the tunnels, no,” Jon replies and scrubs a hand over their face and through their hair, wishing half-desperately that one of the crew were around to braid it for them considering the state of it.

Tim nods with a frown tilting in his chair to pin Jon with suspicious eyes he questions, “So, who killed her?”

Jon glances around the Archives, this is essentially their domain and for the moment Elias’ attention is directed elsewhere. Sighing, Jon glances at each of their assistants in turn before finally replying, “Elias.”

There’s silence for a single second, a pause where Jon can see Sasha’s brow furrow something like grief and anger warring there, Tim’s shocked disbelief, Martin’s confusion burning into something worried.

“What? Why?” Tim is the first to question and Jon can see that Martin and Sasha are equally desperate for an answer.

“I imagine she was starting to know too much or was finally going to make a move against him,” Jon shrugs with their reply, studying the Archive floor, it’s got a very interesting floor, before finally glancing up at his assistants.

“Are we going to talk about everything else?” Sasha questions carefully, ‘everything’ is intoned carefully and accompanied by a sweeping gesture; that sounds about right, everything is a lot.

Jon slumps into the chair and feels the hard edges dig into their spine before they suck in a breath and say to the ceiling, “I – if you all would like.”

“And what would you like Jon?” Martin questions carefully, Jon tilts their head slightly and catches a flash of concern so warm it’s like a hot summer day.

Would they like that? Not really.

“I’d prefer not to speak about it at all,” Jon admits quietly scrubbing their fingers under their sleeves where their veins seem to pulse in all the colours of the rainbow today before they continue, “But you all deserve to know.”

“Jon,” Sasha says their name carefully, gently, “We want to know but you don’t have to tell us.”

“You could always give us the cliff notes version?” Tim suggests gently just a hint of something teasing to his tone and the suggestion of a smile at the corners of his lips.

Jon glances away from their assistants and at the ceiling for a long moment before they nod, “Okay, brief version. I’m technically an alien,” they pause inhale and continue, “I come from what was once the planet Midgard some thousand or so years in the future or past depending on your view of linear time…” a pause again, they’re not sure how to continue, song makes it easier, the emotions don’t dig so deep.

They continue, “Our leader the All Mother, Odin, built a train, the Ratatosk express… it – after eighty years it brought about the destruction of the whole Yggdrasil system. I am, as far as I know, the only survivor of the whole system. I was ‘rescued’ by a group of space pirates, the Mechanisms, who are storytellers of sorts, also quite immortal. Earth… the beings from the epoch some of them came here. As the sole survivor, I need to… it’s my duty to…”

Jon trails off, their throat is parched, and their eyes burn.

“It’s okay Jon,” Martin says gently, one of his hands settles light as the air itself on their shoulder, grounding them to the moment. They cannot change the past.

“Wait,” Sasha says brow furrowing, “You said you studied Norse mythology, Odin, the Ratatosk express, they’re all connected?”

“Yes, things like that, it leaves ripples, echoes. And well the Mechanisms have been to Earth before, though they generally prefer this century these days,” Jon replies carefully, their words are light, too light it feels.

“What happened to Prentis?” Tim questions shifting so that Jon can see the concern in his eyes, the way some of the suspicion has drained away.

“I – banished it? The entity, the Corruption… it no longer has a foothold on Earth anymore.” Jon explains as best as they are able though it is always difficult with things that function beyond a certain physical plane.

“So what? Your plan is to just banish all the entities?” Martin questions carefully, he’s running a hand through his curly hair and adjusting the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he stares at Jon.

Jon glances at their assistants for a moment before they nod, “Mostly? Yes. I accepted the position of Archivist as it allows me to interact with the other entities.”

Sasha’s lips are pressed together and her brow is furrowed, it’s a familiar expression and it helps to settle some of Jon’s nerves, which are doing an imitation of a fish out of water, as she says, “So, do you just need an artefact tied to the entity or an avatar?”

“An avatar is a more direct conduit to their entity,” Jon replies carefully, “I can’t be certain if I use an artefact that it would be complete.”

“Avatar hunt?” Tim questions sound a mix of teasing an incredulous and, “Going to reclaim your honour too?”

“Haven’t had honour in a while. I suppose in a way it is a hunt of sorts,” Jon replies with a shrug something bubbling up warm and heavy in their gut.

“Kind of like Horcruxes,” Martin responds cheerily before with a shake of his head he adds, “God I wish she would just shut up. It’s hard enough when a famous author isn’t invalidating your existence too.”

Tim pats Martin on the shoulder in commiseration and Sasha adds, “She’s not that great a writer, there are better authors out there.”

“I think you’d like the crew and the stories we tell,” Jon adds with a tiny half-smile thinking of poor Mordred, or Cinders and Rose. Those tales are tragic, yes, but they’re the sort of tragic that Jon is all too familiar with and loves and hates in equal measure.

Martin smiles at Jon and opens his mouth to respond but before he can there is a knock on the door to the Archives. It is pushed open revealing a woman in a plain hijab and a police uniform, she has keen eyes which sweep over the four of them before landing firmly on Jon.

“Basira Hussain, constable, I’m here to inquire about Gertrude Robinson’s death,” Basira introduces herself with a sharp tilt of her head, her eyes flicker once more over the four of them. Jon smiles pleasantly even as something tickles at the back of their mind, something about her is vaguely familiar.

“I’m Jonathan Sims, the Archivist,” Jon introduces themself with a smile and Basira nods, her gaze is sharp as stone where it observes them.

“I’d like to interview you all if that’s alright?” Basira questions her eyes flicking from Martin to Tim then to Sasha.

“You can speak with me first Ms. Hussain,” Jon says with a tilt of their head, she just nods and follows them to their office.

“Basira’s fine,” She says as she settles into the chair across from their desk, they settle and resist the urge to reach out for a statement even as distantly a tape recorder clicks on.

“Basira then. How can I help you?” Jon questions politely, wondering how to approach this. They can already sense a faint hint of the eye about the woman across from them.

“Just a few questions about Ms. Robinson. Did you know her before your death?”

“No, I only had the chance to meet her once and it was in passing,” Jon replies carefully, they steeple their hands in front of their desk and can’t help but ask, “Have you received the CTV footage?”

“Yes, we’re looking through it along with the tapes she left behind,” Basira replies and her eyes narrow for a moment before she continues, “Why did you accept the position of Archivist?”

“I believed it was the best position for me to be in,” Jon replies and then in afterthought adds, “I- I believe I’ll be able to help more than Gertrude ever was.”

Basira studies them for a long moment, her eyes are piercing and there is a quiet urge to spill the truth to her; they don’t.

“Do you have any idea as to who killed Ms. Robinson?” Basira questions and that is the question, isn’t it.

“I suspect Elias Bouchard Ms. Hussain, but I’ll be honest, if it was Elias, you’ll have a difficult time convicting him,” Jon advises carefully. Basira frowns her lips pinched together even as she nods once.

“Thank you for your advice Sims,” Basira responds and slowly rises to her feet.

“Would you like to give a statement?” Jon questions, the words slipping from their lips before they can think about it, they catch a dubious expression and continue, “It would be off the record. You don’t have to.”

Basira studies Jon for a moment longer before she slumps back into the chair and says, “Sure why not.”

“Statement of Basira Hussain regarding…

“This is it?” Jon questions as they peer down at the floor where the outline of a trapdoor embedded in the floor is visible. The office itself is for the most part abandoned and is cluttered with a few boxes of forms and statements that Jon hopes they might get to eventually.

“Yeah this is it,” Tim says crossing his arms over his chest he leans tentatively against a stack of boxes.

“Are you all sure you’d like to come?” Jon asks, glancing at Martin who looks a bit pale in the weak office light and then to Sasha who is frowning he adds, “You don’t have to come. I’m sure I’d be perfectly fine on my own.”

“We’re coming with you Jon,” Sasha says with a shake of her head accompanied by a roll of her eyes, Martin behind her nods his head straightening his shoulders with what little bravery he can muster.

“Alright,” Jon concedes with a touch of a smile as Tim nods and squats pushing open the door they add, “I just want to take a quick look today, maybe see the tapes you hid Tim?”

“Sounds good boss,” Tim replies with a shrug as the trap door flops open with a little cloud of dust opening onto a rickety-looking ladder that would certainly not pass any modern safety standards, descending into the darkness.

Glancing at their assistants, Jon sucks in a breath, thinks of Marius and begins the descent into the tunnels. The first thing Jon notices is how musty it is, it’s the smell of dust, old age, something unopened, or perhaps unearthed. The second thing they notice as they step onto the cement of the tunnel is the way their connection to the Eye becomes _muffled_ like pulling a blanket over one’s head; they can still see the shifting colours of the Bifrost.

Tim jumps down with a thud dusting off his pants and Sasha follows behind brushing her hands off on her skirt. Martin is the last to follow glancing nervously up and down the empty corridor.

“Which way?” Jon questions quietly, their words seem to bounce and echo off the tunnel walls.

Tim glances to Sasha who raises a brow, a familiar sort of silent conversation before Tim finally nods and with a tilt of his head towards the left responds, “I think we came that way. It was a bit hard to navigate, terrified for our lives and all that.”

There’s something hot and bitter under those words just waiting to lash out and bite.

“I-I’m sorry you all were involved in this. I should have protected you better,” Jon speaks to the wall beside them and to the back of Tim’s head as their footsteps echo around them. They glance at their own hands, think of how even if its debatable Jonny, for all his faults, always tries to be a good Captain.

“It’s not like you can control when a supernatural entity attacks the Institute Jon,” Sasha says gently one hand settling warm and grounding on their shoulder.

They flash her a tiny smile and say, “I know, still… I should have done more. I- eventually things will be safer.”

“We’ve uh been looking into the names you gave us,” Martin says carefully, Jon glances over their shoulder, Martin is studying his shoes his hands tucked into one another but when he catches Jon staring, he flashes a smile.

“And?”

“Nothing yet in particular,” Sasha responds with a frown twisting her fingers into the bottom of her shirt before she continues, “I’ve been searching through a few of the databases but these… avatars don’t leave many traces.”

“No, I don’t imagine they do,” Jon replies scrubbing a hand over his face for a moment before he continues, “If necessary, I’ll… well, I’ll find what I can.”

They turn down a corridor and Tim pauses in front of an empty room, he frowns the expression curling over his face as he comments, “This is where we found her.”

Jon nods hesitates for a moment before they step through the door and into the room. It’s just like any other room, excluding the whole secret tunnel under the institute aspect, dusty, and Jon imagines they can see where her body was.

“You said there were tapes in here?” Jon questions glancing around the room once more before their eyes fall on Tim.

“Yeah, they were right in the corner. I don’t know why Elias would have just left them in here though,” Tim shrugs, “I’ll show you where we moved them.”

He turns and with a last glance, Jon follows Tim into the corridor. Sasha and Martin are speaking in soft voices but when they notice their presence Martin smiles at Jon and waves his hand.

They walk for a few moments in silence before Sasha says, “Have you been to Artefact Storage lately Jon?”

“No, I’ve been a bit busy,” Jon admits a touch ruefully, adjusting their glasses once more.

Sasha just nods and continues, “I’ve been looking through some of the Artefacts, maybe something will help us,” she catches Jon’s gaze and continues, “I know Jon I’m being careful I promise. But anyway, you remember that statement with Graham Folger, with the table?”

“The spiral one and the uh not-them?” Martin questions as they turn down another corridor.

“Yeah that’s the one,” Sasha replies with a shrug, rubbing her hands over her arms she continues, “Well it’s there, I’m certain it’s that table. Eleanor, who works there says it’s been here for a few months.”

“That’s probably not good,” Jon says very quietly as they try to recall what they know of the not-them.

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Sasha replies crossing her arms over her chest before she continues, “I asked Eleanor about it, she says that uh… someone from Research, you remember Joe, with the beard?”

“No.”

“I do,” Tim interrupts with a shake of his head, “He was always rambling on about his wife.”

“That’s him,” Sasha says slowly accompanied by a little sigh before she continues, “Well he’s been in the visitor logs for Artefact Storage recently, a lot, and I doubt he’s considering a transfer.”

“He was always talking about how creepy it is down there. Not that I disagree,” Tim adds as they pause in front of another room.

Jon scrubs a hand through their braids and considers the information carefully, “I’ll look into it. If he’s been taken by the not-them… Does anyone have any polaroid photos of him, or uh video recordings?”

“I’ll ask around,” Tim says with a tight frown before he tilts his head at the room, “We stashed the tapes here.”

Jon steps into the room and glances at the corner where a little cardboard box sits, from this distance they can see a few tapes sticking out of the box, “Hopefully, it’ll provide some enlightening information.”

“It would be nice if there was an address book in there,” Martin jokes and Jon flashes him a warm smile as they step forward and pick the cardboard box up.

Turning to face their assistants they add, “If you want to explore down here, take someone else with you. I have no doubt that we’re not alone in these tunnels.”

“Ominous as usual boss,” Tim replies jokingly accompanied by a roll of his eyes. Jon just scoffs and adjusts his grasp on the box.

“How about we focus on finding our way out,” Sasha says planting her hands on her hips and glancing out into the corridor. Jon nods and follows after Tim, they can’t help but let their eyes trail over the stone walls, wondering what secrets they might hold.

Jon is filing a few statements, silently cursing Gertrude under their breath as is their wont when confronted with her dismal filing system (it had to be on purpose, no one is this bad at filing, not even a doddering old lady, which Gertrude was certainly not) when the door opens.

“Got a statement giver for you boss?” Tim says leaning on the door and studying Jon with a little lopsided smile. So maybe they’re collapsed on the floor in utter despair surrounded by stacks of paper and wishing for Ivy; they’re fine.

Nodding they rise carefully to their feet and reply, “Send them in. Any update based on the statements I forwarded?”

“Sasha might have an address for that one with Ex Altora,” Tim replies with a grin before he nods, “I’ll send her in, try being nice she looks a bit shaken up.”

“I am nice,” Jon protests indignantly as they shove a stack of statements to the side.

Tim raises one brow and steps out of their office closing the door with a click behind him.

A few minutes later the door swings open admitting a woman dressed in a sharp pencil skirt and blouse with a riot of curly hair around her head. Her eyes flicker from wall to wall and back at the door before finally landing on Jon.

“Hello please take a seat, I’m Jonathan Sims, the Archivist,” They introduce themself, extending a hand.

The woman glances at it for a long moment before she tentatively reaches out and shakes it, with a fragile smile she responds, “Helen Richardson.”

She settles gingerly in the chair as if it might disappear beneath her, and that’s when Jon notices the touch of the Spiral gathered about her like a summer storm, the pressure swirling about the room.

“A pleasure to meet you,” Jon greets with as friendly a smile as they can manage, they were good at this once, talking to people, making them feel safe; it was part of their job.

Helen nods glancing over her shoulder at the door to their office before she asks, “You take statements, here right?”

“Yes,” Jon nods and Helen exhales, she bites her lips and straightens her shoulders, “I presume you’d like to give one then?” she nods and a tape recorder clicks on, “Alright statement of Helen Richardson regarding…”

“A door that shouldn’t be there,” Helen says quietly, she picks at lint on her skirt and doesn’t meet their eyes.

“Statement taken directly from subject…”

Helen’s story spills out in a spiral, of the being Michael, of a yellow door that shouldn’t be there, and a fear for her own sanity. When at last her words trail off into silence she glances from her skirt into Jon’s eyes.

“Do you believe me?” Helen asks tentatively, searching for reassurance, some sign that she can trust her own sight.

“I do, my assistant has interacted with the being known as Michael before,” Jon says carefully, they steeple their hands in front of them in the desk, shaking their head at the colours that are attempting to seep through their skin as they continue, “I recommend being very careful which door you are going through Helen. Double and then triple check that it isn’t yellow. I’ll see what I can do about Michael, but these monsters are persistent when they’ve found a target.”

Helen’s face falls and Jon’s heart goes out for her it does, she twists her hands together and asks quietly, “Is- is there anything else that you could do?”

“I’ll have Sasha walk you to the foyer. All I can say is be very careful which door you go through. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I can offer,” Jon replies gently studying Helen and wondering if they might ever see her again.

Helen nods with a small sigh before she collects herself and replies, “Thank you, and thank you for believing me.”

Jon digs through one of their desk drawers as Helen rises to her feet and offers her a small card they add, “If… if you need help call this number.”

Helen studies the card for a long moment before she reaches out and carefully takes it from their hand, she smiles, just the littlest quirk of her lips, “Thank you.”

Jon follows Helen to the door and spots Sasha at her desk, twirling a pen around her fingers, “Sasha? Could you walk Ms. Richardson to the foyer please?”

Sasha glances up from her desk, her gaze flickering from Jon to Helen before she smiles, it’s a nice if impersonal smile and rises to her feet, “Of course. Come this way, if you’d like we can stop and get some tea from the cafeteria?”

Jon watches Helen and Sasha leave the Archives for a moment before with a sigh they run their hand through their tangled hair and step back into their office shutting the door behind them with a click.

When they turn, there is a door on the wall that was not there before. It is yellow, the yellow of a gas station bathroom light, or the Peeps Easter candies left out too long. The door creaks and begins to open, long spindly fingers that have more bones than they should wrap around the frame as the door pushes open.

A laugh, one like screaming, like migraines, fill the tiny office as the being known as Michael steps into Jon’s office.

It is _wrong_. Limbs too long and short all at once, uneven, unbalanced, spiralling, curling in on itself as a mirror does when reflected upon itself. A migraine begins to pound at the back of Jon’s head, and yet this _wrongness_ it is familiar, it is the stuff of his nightmares taken form once more.

“Michael,” Jon says the name carefully, it sounds wrong, like when English suddenly doesn’t make sense anymore.

It laughs and steps out of the doorway, “You’ve been very mean Archivist. I’m not sure I want to help you.”

“Help me?” Jon questions as it takes a step, or perhaps the approximation of a step forward, suddenly it is very close.

Michael tilts its head, “I’ve heard what happened to the Corruption, are you going to do that to the Spiral Archivist?”

“Yes.”

It laughs, one finger, too long and too sharp by far reaches up to rest just under the vulnerable skin of their neck, “I’d like to see you try Archivist.”

“You were Gertrude’s assistant once, weren’t you?” Jon questions glancing up into Michael’s eyes, it hurts, a disconcerting feeling of wrong, of second-guessing, bulldozing through their senses; they keep looking.

They watch as Michael’s face screws up in utter fury, “Once yes. She sacrificed me. Are you going to do that Archivist?”

Jon reaches up and gently wraps their fingers around Michael’s hand where its finger is already cutting into their throat, “No, I’m going to protect them. If – if it means anything, I’m sorry.”

Michael’s face twists, and keeps on twisting, its hair curls around them as it studies Jon, “Perhaps you are different from Gertrude Archivist. Good luck maybe you’ll even survive.”

Jon smiles, it is not a particularly kind smile but a smile, nonetheless.

They reach forward with their left hand tangling it in between the curls of the being, which is of the Spiral, that which distorts reality, shifts it and shapes it into a maze which traps and never ends. Jon reaches past that into the heart of all that is _wrong_ , that which is false, the fragile boundaries of neurons that fire relentlessly, a maze without thread to guide, into that which is skin folded and shaped into something new, that which does not end nor begin, which is madness and deceit, honey tongues, and voices that do not exist or never have.

Jon’s arm fold in on itself, the bones snap but there is no pain and the voices in their mind twist in on themselves, words that have not been spoken that they Know have not been spoken but are true, nonetheless. The colours of the Bifrost break free and splatter across the floor solid like the plasma of a lava lamp as with a harsh tug Jon pulls that which is the Spiral forth.

It is a shifting thing, it curves in on itself never-ending, it the epitome of a black hole, it is an optical illusion always shifting. Jon glances from that which is madness and deceit to Michael, it is afraid, staring at the spirals of it’s being connected to the entity beyond the world, that squamous thing. Michael catches Jon’s eyes and then… then it smiles.

With a final snap and twist of bones, Jon crushes the Spiral.

The yellow door embedded in their wall fades to dust, Michael twists in and in on itself until it is nothing but a laugh that so too fades. Around the world, the arm of the Spiral which twists and burrows into the mind and the physical world folds into nothingness.

It is done.

Lyfrassir stumbles and bangs against the door to their office sucking in harsh gasps of air. They flinch as with a loud splintering _crack_ the bones in their arm attempts to twist themselves back into shape.

They focus on their breath and resolutely stare at the stacks of paper on the floor and not their arm, or the strange feeling of absence, like a lost tooth that surrounds them, or the words which hum eager and willing on their tongue.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice drifts through the door, curiosity and concern balanced together.

“I-I’m okay,” Jon responds carefully, they don’t sound okay, their voice is hoarse and they feel as if they’ve spent a night drinking with Ashes and Jonny again, “On second thought maybe I’m not in the best of shape.”

The door pushes open a scant few inches before meeting Jon and is followed by Martin sighing, “Oh Jon. Is it okay if I touch you?”

They hum and feel Martin’s hands carefully pull them upright, warm and drowning out the echoes of words that aren’t real. Martin makes a distressed sound as Jon’s arm cracks into place once more and guides them to the couch, “Your arm?”

“Should be fine soon,” Jon says quietly as they slump into the couch cushions. A nap sounds good right about now (this is better than passing out though).

Martin hums dithering around their office for a moment before he turns to face Jon and asks, “Anything I can do for you?”

“Stay,” Jon says quietly, the word slipping out before they can catch it. Martin freezes for a moment before a soft expression steals over his face and with a nod he settles beside Jon on the couch. Jon exhales and leans against Martin’s side, Helen will be safe, another entity is gone, it should be enough. So why doesn’t it feel like it?

“This is the right address?” Jon questions glancing from the sidewalk up to the skyscraper which arches towards the skies without hesitation nor sign of stopping. The road behind them bustles with cars and the city seems to hum with life.

Sasha nods glancing up from her phone to study Jon she replies, “Yep, top floor apartment 2045.”

Jon nods studying Sasha, she stares back and for a moment there is silence before Jon states, “You should stay here.”

“And let you go up alone?” Sasha demands planting her hands on her hips she adds, “Especially after last time?”

“I didn’t faint last time!” Jon protested indignantly, they pause, compose themself and continues, “Besides you could be seriously hurt. I haven’t done it before but falling from a thirty-story building probably won’t kill me.”

“Probably?” Sasha says incredulously, both of her brows are raised and her eyes are narrowed on them studying them as if she expects them to walk out in the middle of traffic to prove a point (it’s only happened once they might say).

“Sasha…” Jon trails off gently, glancing into her eyes and trying to implore her to see from their perspective. They couldn’t stand for any of their assistants to get hurt, not when they could survive it.

“At least let me come up, I’ll stay outside the apartment,” Sasha bargains stepping out of the way of a bicyclist.

“No, you won’t, the second something interesting happens you’ll come inside,” Jon says patiently and glances down the street, they can feel the sensation of something or someone watching them.

“Jon,” Sasha says catching their attention, “I trust you. If you tell me to leave, I’ll leave.”

“I-okay,” Jon says with a sigh, they feel defeated and not the kind one accepts with grace either. Straightening their shoulders, they turn towards the building and walk forward, Sasha following behind them.

The lobby is the kind of polished modern interior that in a few centuries will be regarded as dull and lifeless, Jon thinks of it that way now, it is cold, a sort of impersonalism. It is empty and they make their way to the elevators in silence.

Sasha pushes the button with a harsh jab and Jon watches as the numbers tick down towards their floor before he asks, “What do we know about him?”

“Not much other than what he told us in his statement. He’s appeared in a few others, the one with the Bone Turner’s Tale, and another one with a ladder, I think? He’s dangerous that much is obvious.”

The doors to the elevator open with a ding, silently they file inside.

Jon nods with a hum and reaches out to press the highest button before asking, “Have you found anything on Joe from Research?”

“Tim thinks he might have something, an old video from someone’s birthday or something. He’s going to see if he can find an uncorrupted audio format,” Sasha replies as the elevator moves slowly upwards with a familiar sucking motion, Jon’s always disliked elevators.

“Let me know as soon as possible. If it isn’t Joe, we’ll need to find out who else it might be,” Jon responds, there’s elevator music playing, some sort of jazz that makes Jon long for the crew.

“Of course,” Sasha says with a nod before she pauses and adds, “I… there’s been some strange people at the Institute lately,” they give her a look, “Stranger than normal Jon. I think they might be avat-,”

The elevator dings and the doors slide open without a hiss. Jon glances to Sasha and steps out of the elevator and into a carpeted hallway, the air is stale and smells faintly of something spicy.

Silently they move through the hallways, Jon’s eyes flicker across the golden plates with letters embossed on the front until they pause in front of one door near the end of the hallway, “This is it.”

“Stay behind me and let me do the talking, oh and don’t stare,” Jon says quietly and reaches up to knock on the door.

For a long moment, there is silence. Then, the sound of footsteps approaches and with a creak the doorknob twists and the door swings open. The man on the other side is short with a scar that stretches across his skin in the pattern of a lightning strike, his eyes, the stormy grey of a sudden summer storm survey Jon and Sasha before he asks, “Can I help you?”

“I’m Jonathan Sims and this is my co-worker Sasha James, we work with the Magnus Institute, we were wondering if we could speak to you for a moment? It’s about a few of our statements,” Jon says with a pleasant smile feeling as if they are giving a pitch again.

Mike studies Jon for a long moment before he rolls his eyes and steps back pushing his door open wider, “Sure why not.”

Jon steps inside and Sasha follows quietly behind. The apartment looks as if it’s been lifted out of an interior design catalogue, one purchased by minimalists. It is a wide-open space with only a scant few pieces of furniture all in cool greys and blues.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Mike asks pausing outside his kitchen. For a moment Jon has to remind themself that the man in front of them has killed people, preys on people, will continue to do so if they don’t stop it.

“We’re good, thank you,” Jon replies and Mike nods in a sort of ‘suit yourself’ manner.

“So, what can I help you with?” Mike questions settling into the seat across from the couch, he is tense his shoulders bunched up as he stares at Jon.

“I’m sorry about this, it isn’t personal,” Jon says quietly and takes a step forward.

Mike pauses, the sound of air rushing by grows through the room and Jon’s stomach swoops with sudden vertigo as Mike says, “You’re the one that’s been destroying the entities.”

“Not destroying, more banishing,” Jon replies mildly staring across the wide space at Mike in the sudden stalemate.

“Sorry but I don’t really fancy dying today. Take another step and I’ll convince your body you’ve fallen thirty-stories,” Mike says low and dangerous, his eyes dart towards the door, like a trapped animal.

“That’s fair,” Jon says and lunges forward one hand wrapping around Mike’s arm even as the floor drops out beneath them. Suddenly, they are falling, their hand still connected to Mike Crew as the air rips at them and Mike smiles.

“How does it feel to have the air ripped from your lungs? Your stomach dropping out and the feeling that you are going to die?” Mike asks with a smile leaning closer to Jon as the air pulls them towards the ground.

Jon grins and with a lunge wraps their other hand around Mike’s wrist, over the wind which fills their mouth and steals their words they yell, “Done it before, wouldn’t recommend it.”

Mike’s expression twists in confusion but before he can do anything Jon reaches forward. They pull that which is Vast, that which stretches endlessly, which is endless, the sky which holds no bounds, the deepest pits of the ocean floor, the unknown reaches of space which taunt and pull at the fabric of reality. That endlessness of numbers and knowledge that can never be known by one person, the whole collection of humanity that cannot be held in the palm of your hands.

Jon tugs and the Vast follows, it cannot be held in their hands, it cannot be held, but it is tangible all the same, it a thing which is endless, is the waters of the ocean dripping through the fingers no matter how much they cup them, it is the stars spilling out between their palms. The Bifrost tangles and dances through the skies, speaking and screaming of that which cannot be comprehended by mortal minds for it is too vast.

With a sad laugh Jon glances into Mike’s eyes and folds the Vast in on itself until it is nothing. The sky drops away known, the depths of the ocean explored, the edges of space felt, and all knowledge held. All that is the Vast from Simon Fairchild to Mike melt into the ether without a sound.

The air currents drop away and as suddenly as Jon was falling, they are on a too expensive couch.

“Jon!” Sasha’s voice cuts through the air, distorted and blurry as if through water, they suck in what air they can grasp and turns to face her.

“I’m okay,” Jon attempts to reassure her, digging their hands into the stiff cushions of the couch and focusing on their breath as the sensation of the vastness of the universe, of the world, only compacted by the Eye begins to fade.

“No offence you don’t look okay. We should have waited longer for you to recover,” Sasha says gently, she settles one hand on their shoulder, and they exhale, force the air through their lungs and out of their mind.

“I’ll be fine. I might sleep for a week again, but I’ll be fine,” Jon says quietly and glances into Sasha’s dark eyes, “Let’s just get on the ground please.”

“Okay,” Sasha says softly and loops her arm through theirs, “But we’re talking about this later.”

“Of course,” Jon replies and let’s her half drag them to the elevator. A part of them aches for the vastness of space suddenly, aches for the Aurora and the crew. But their work is not done yet.

“And you’re sure you saw someone down there?” Jon questions leaning back on their hands and staring at Sasha, it’s almost closing time and both Tim and Martin have gone home early; Gods Jon wishes they could do that.

“Yeah, wasn’t sure who, couldn’t make any of the details – those tunnels they shift or something. Not as bad as it once was though…” Sasha trails off with a shrug before running her fingers through her hair.

“Alright, be careful Sasha,” Jon replies sorting idly through a few of the statements on Tim’s desk.

“I know Jon,” Sasha replies with a roll of her eyes before she sighs shifting slightly and rising to her feet, “Have you spoken to Elias lately?”

Jon shakes their head with a frown, “No, we’ve been giving each other some… space.”

“Playing mind games with each other?” Sasha questions with a tiny smile, they nod, “There’s been a lot of traffic in his office lately. A man with wisps of fog, a ship captain of some kind, a woman that probably wasn’t actually a woman, there was even someone covered in dirt.”

“Other avatars, by the sounds of it the first one is one of the Lukas’ family, and the last one the Buried, I would guess the woman was probably of the Stranger. I-I’m not surprised, this was bound to have consequences,” Jon replies scrubbing a hand over their face, their braids are a mess and they miss Raphaellea’s deft hands.

Sasha’s face twists her lips pressing into a thin line as she studies them before she says quietly, “Jon are they going to – is there going to be retribution.”

“In all likelihood yes,” Jon admits softly glancing away from Sasha before they continue, “I’ll try to keep you all out of it. But well…” Jon shakes their head and digs out a piece of paper and pen, quickly they write a few numbers down, “Call this phone number if anything ever happens to me. They’ll help you. Memorize it please, and have Tim and Martin do the same.”

Sasha takes a few steps closer and carefully takes the paper from their hands, “Your crew?”

“Yes, they’re… a lot, but they mean well for the most part,” Jon replies with a tiny smile before shaking their head and asking, “Any update on our Artefact Storage situation?”

“Tim’s all but cleared the audio he’s going to give it a listen to probably sometime this week. I was thinking of dropping by there again this week to check the visitor logs. Eleanor’s been really helpful.”

“Be careful Sasha,” Jon says with another smile, she just rolls her eyes.

“I know Jon, I try, but the same goes for you,” Sasha responds tugging on a sweater and folding the paper up into her pocket.

“Me careful? Always,” Jon replies and only earns a scoff as Sasha pauses in the doorway, “Have a goodnight, Sasha.”

“You too Jon,” Sasha replies and then she is gone.

Jon sighs and rises to their feet; they have time for maybe one more statement and then they should really head home.

There is a knock on the door.

Jon pauses, perhaps Sasha has forgotten something when the door swing opens. A woman stands in the doorway, short jagged hair, visible scars, and all the air of a hunter, of a predator. Her steely eyes study Jon for a long moment as she leans against the door frame.

“You the Archivist, Sims?” The woman grunts out and Jon tenses their fingers trailing to the knife they have sheathed against their hip.

“I’m the Archivist and you are?” Jon questions, they carefully watch the predator across from them.

The woman smiles, her canines are too sharp, there are too many teeth, “Daisy Tonner, I’m Basira’s partner.”

“Ah,” Jon replies elegantly, “Can I help you Ms. Tonner?”

Daisy smirks a curl of teeth that Jon will admit is a tiny bit frightening, “Depends. I don’t get why Basira likes you. You set her on Bouchard’s path and he said _something_ to her. Personally, I think you killed her.”

“Basira spoke to Elias?” Jon questions carefully before shaking their head, “Are you here to kill me then?”

“Don’t know are you going to kill me?” She questions tilting her head angling her body so Jon can see the gun sheathed at her hip.

“Now why would I do that?” Jon questions and they smile, it isn’t like Jonny or Tim’s smiles, the ones soaked in blood and manic with something only immortality can bring, but it’s something close.

“Don’t know, heard some strange things lately. You could try,” Daisy grins, challenging and bloodthirsty.

“I don’t want to,” Jon says with a shake of their head their hand hovering over their knife before they continue, “The entity you are connected to, the Hunt, it’s a parasite, it’s feeding on humanity, on you. If you could distance yourself from it…” Jon trails off unsure.

Daisy shakes her head with a low chuckle, “And what if I don’t want to ‘distance’ myself from it huh Sims?”

They freeze for a moment before they frown and ask, “Then leave. I- think of it as a hunt.”

“Nah I don’t think I’ll do that. If you can survive, I’ll leave you alone for a while,” Daisy replies and then she lunges.

Jon ducks to the side and brings out their knife, they lash out but Daisy is already moving rolling to her feet and swinging her fist. Jon catches her fist, but they’re not strong enough to hold it and they quickly drop it dodging out of the way of a gut punch.

Daisy grins and kicks out, Jon twists out of the way and then forward with their knife. They score a line across Daisy’s bicep; she laughs and brings her elbow down on the tender joint of their arm.

Jon grunts and drops their knife doubling back and pulling out their other knife. With a harsh _crack,_ their arm straightens and Daisy grins, “Not bad Sims.”

She lunges forward and Jon brings their knife up, the two blades clash with a harsh crack and Jon digs their feet into the floor as Daisy pushes and they slide back. Ducking to the side Jon swings around and brings their knife down, Daisy twists and catches it on her stolen knife.

Suddenly, Daisy lashes out with her hand, where her fingers have shifted into sharp claws which cut across their chest. Jon stumbles backwards with a bitten-off cry but doesn’t let Daisy press the advantage as they lash out, landing a kick on Daisy’s solar plexus.

She collides with the desk with a grunt. Blood drips from Jon’s chest to the floor even as the wounds begin to heal over, they glance briefly at the blood, which isn’t red or at least mostly isn’t and back at Daisy.

Wiping blood from her mouth she rises to her feet and moves. She’s faster than before somehow and Jon twists raising his elbow to catch the blade which suddenly sinks into their arm. Daisy abandons the knife and instead wraps her arm around his neck pressing them against her chest.

Choking for air at the pressure on their windpipe they lash out slamming their elbow, the knife still embedded in it, into Daisy’s chest. She grunts but doesn’t move, Jon repeats the motion and slams their foot onto her booted shoes.

Daisy grunts and drops them, they whirl around and lash out slamming their blade into her chest, they miss most of the important vital organs. Daisy growls, it isn’t a human sound, not in the slightest, and pulls out her gun firing three shots into their chest before they can move.

Jon sinks to their knees gasping for breath through the pain and glances up at Daisy. She grins, all sharp teeth and then all Jon sees is the barrel of a gun. Then darkness.

“Jon, I came in this morning to see you with a bullet beside your head and three beside your chest!” Martin says his hands are near bloodless around his mug of tea as he glares at Jon. Tim grimaces and fades into the background, et tu Brutus?

“I’m fine,” Jon replies with a shrug rubbing their hands over their arms, “I swear. I just had a run-in with an entity.”

“Jon,” Martin begins again studying them with narrow eyes, however, before he can continue Sasha reappears with a woman at her side.

“Ms. King, a pleasure to see you again,” Jon greets Melanie who rolls her eyes and steps into the Archives, her eyes darting over the shelves, still stuffed with boxes all but spewing paper.

“It looks a bit cleaner in here,” Melanie comments crossing her arms over chest.

“It certainly doesn’t feel it,” Jon replies amicably, glancing to Tim and Sasha they continue, “Tim let me know how the audio listening goes, Sasha any word from Artefact Storage?” she nods, “If you can tell me after? Thank you. Come along Ms. King.”

Melanie watches them with narrow eyes for a long moment before with a nod she follows them into their office. Her eyes snap about the place and she says, “I see you redecorated a bit. Was that blood on the floor out there by the way?”

“Oh? Ah, yes there was a bit of an… incident. Everyone is okay no need to worry Ms. King. Now is there anything I can help you with?” Jon replies settling at their desk and pushing aside a few statements.

“Guess I have another statement,” Melanie says with a shrug as she slings her legs over the side of the chair idly fiddling with one of Jon’s paperweights.

“Of course,” a tape recorder clicks on in the background, “Statement of Melanie King…”

When Melanie is finished there is silence for a moment disrupted only by the distant sound of papers shuffling and a clock ticking before Melanie says, “I’m going to India, to investigate more of these war ghosts.”

Jon opens their mouth before pausing considering their words carefully, “Be careful Ms. King, the… things behind these war ghosts are very dangerous. I would appreciate fi you would come and see me after you return from your trip.”

Melanie studies Jon for a long moment before she nods, “Yeah alright.”

“Be careful and have a safe flight,” Jon adds as Melanie rises to her feet. She hovers in the doorway glancing over her shoulder at Jon one last time before she waves her fingers and ducks out the doorway.

Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over their face leaning back in their chair they let their eyes slide close. For a moment, there is just the distant sounds of an office and the sound of their own breathing, the twisting colours of the Bifrost, for once are calm and slow.

A ringtone breaks the silence.

Sighing Jon digs out their phone and slides the answer button, “Hello?”

“Jon?”

“Basira?” Jon replies earning an affirmative hum, they lean forward.

“What do you know about Maxwell Rayner?” Basira questions, distantly they can hear the sound of something moving or shifting in the background.

“Light, bring lots of light, as much as you can manage and different sources too,” Jon replies, static begins to crackle into the call, “And Basira if you arrest anyone please let me speak to them.”

Basira attempts to reply but it is garbled and the call cuts out with the dial tone. Jon sighs and resists the urge to slam their phone on their desk or to try and find Basira. They scrub their hand over their face and with a final sigh rise to their feet.

Sasha is chatting with Tim and Martin, the three of them glance up when they duck out of their office and share a look. Tim is the first to speak, “We uh listened to the audio boss.”

“And?”

“It’s the same, it isn’t different,” Sasha replies biting her lip and glancing down at the desk before she glances up and continues, “I’ve checked the visitor logs again and again but there’s no one that’s been there repeatedly.”

“If it’s not Joe then who is it?” Jon wonders aloud frowning and tugging on the Eye’s presence as they continue, “Is there anyone in Artefact Storage that has been acting strange lately?”

Sasha frowns twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she puzzles over it before her face twists further, “I’m not familiar with most of the staff, but uh… maybe Tina?”

“What about Eleanor?” Martin questions his brow furrowing as he glances between Sasha and Jon.

“What about her?” Sasha asks slowly.

Martin glances at Jon and then carefully replies, “Whoever that was at Artefact Storage when we went a few days ago, it wasn’t Eleanor. I just thought there had been a bit of confusion with the name tags?”

“Blond hair, brown eyes?” Sasha questions twisting her hair around her finger over and over again.

“Yeah, but uh Eleanor’s head was shaved,” Martin replies quietly.

“She’s been taken by the not-them,” Jon says shaking their head, they had hoped to avoid this if they had only known about the table’s existence beforehand. Perhaps they can salvage something of this situation yet.

“We need to deal with this before it can hurt anyone else. Any ideas?” Jon questions glancing at each of their assistants in turn. It’s Tim who nods and steps forward with a plan.

It is dark by the time Eleanor leaves the building which is strange of its own accord, most of the employees, excluding those in the Archives, leave as soon as their shift is over, but apparently not Eleanor.

It is dark out and she walks without glancing at the streets around her, or even behind herself, she just keeps walking down the streets ignoring the men lingering outside of bars whistling at her, or the quartet following a few feet back.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Martin whispers under his breath as they pass beside a seemingly abandoned alleyway, up ahead Eleanor turns left. Jon hums under their breath before shrugging.

“There’s not really a better idea. I just need to confirm this then I can deal with the Stranger,” Jon replies under their breath, in the distance they can still see Eleanor, she is wearing a red coat that in the darkness looks the tint of dried blood.

“How many have we dealt with already?” Tim questions his arms slung across his chest, he shivers once and glares at the sidewalk.

“Three,” Jon replies and pauses as up ahead Eleanor’s pace slows to a stop.

It’s a building that looks like it doesn’t really belong anywhere, its an out of place sort of building with walls that are blue, and in the darkness the white accents only look eerie. Without a second glance, Eleanor walks up to the building, Jon squints the Bournemouth House of Wax, and slips inside.

“Please tell me she didn’t just go in there,” Martin says plaintively, stamping his feet on the ground to try and get some warmth in them.

“Unfortunately, she did,” Jon replies with a tiny smile before they frown and continue, “You all don’t have to come in. I would prefer if you would stay outside it would be safer for you.”

“I’m not missing this,” Tim says quietly, there’s something that burns behind those words, a statement that Jon won’t force Tim to tell.

“And leave you to your own devices?” Sasha demands planting her hands on her hips and studying Jon with a dubious look.

“No, we’ll come in Jon,” Martin finishes, they study their three assistants for a long moment before they nod and turn.

As they begin to walk forward, they call out, “If I tell you to leave. Leave.”

Silence greets them but they know their assistants will listen. Even closer to the building, Jon can see the derelict state of the place, the blue of the walls is peeling and the white of the building is dingy and in need of a paint job.

Squaring their shoulders, they march forward ignoring the shivers that cascade down their spine. They pause in front of the doors and glances over their shoulders at their assistants once before they push open the door.

It is dark inside, only the distant glow an emergency exit sign providing any illumination. Sasha and Tim dig out their phones and turn their flashlights on shining them over the wax figures.

They are _wrong_ , misshapen and just a shade off so one has just enough of an idea as to who it is supposed to be.

“Creepy, seriously creepy,” Tim whispers under his breath, Jon glares at him and raises his hands in front of his chest continuing to let the flashlight shine across the wax figurines. Ignoring the twisting sensation in their stomach Jon walks forward through the hallways.

The building itself is cramped and smells faintly of mold and Jon cannot help but feel that the glass eyes are watching them as they come to a halt in front of a set of doors. Glancing over their shoulder Jon whispers, “Be very careful, say nothing. See and Know each other and if I say leave, do it.”

Then they push the door open.

It opens onto an auditorium, plush seats that once might have been nice now sit abandoned and moth-eaten with stuffing leaking out of the corners. A stage sits at the other end of the room, with the lights above shining haphazardly onto it illuminating the figures there.

Eleanor stands there in her red dress that suddenly looks the colour of fresh blood speaking to someone in what appears to be a ringmaster’s coat. Tim goes stiff behind Jon but doesn’t move as the two figures notice their arrival.

“It would appear we have some guests. My how lovely!” The ringmaster says, its voice is familiar but that is the only thing familiar about it, for it is certainly _not_ human. It claps plastic hands together with a series of little ticks as Eleanor turns and faces them, she begins to smile.

“I was wondering if you would figure it out Archivist,” Eleanor says, and now that they Know they can see it, can hear how wrong it is.

“Stay,” Jon whispers to their assistants before they begin to walk forward slowly, each step echoes out loudly in the auditorium as they ask aloud, “Is there where you were planning your ritual?”

“Yes, quite a scenic location don’t you think? I suppose we’ll have to move though, what a shame,” The ringmaster says, its hands twitch and glide through the air as an automaton would. Jon nods and steps up onto the stage, the lights are hot on their shoulders and they can feel the Bifrost humming beneath their skin.

“Unless you’re going to stop us that is?” The ringmaster asks leaning forward to stare at Jon with a face made of smooth plastic.

The not-them laughs, “You try Archivist.”

She launches forward suddenly monstrous and Jon’s hand snaps out wreathed in that which exists beyond the filaments of reality. They plunge their hand into the not-them’s chest and pull.

They pull that which is Unknown, that which is Strange, the faces in a sea that one might never know, pictures of people you thought you know, didn’t you know them? It is that which lies, that which masks itself and dances upon strings as the marionette dances, it is that which steals and confuses, that which is reality unknown and reshaped to the wrong image.

With a final tug they pull the Unknowing forth, both the ringmaster and the not-them freeze starring at the entity, it does not look like an entity, it looks like a plastic doll, and yet ribbons, glinting red connect it to the two avatars.

Jon’s hand stiffens like stone, gain a glossy texture but they ignore it pulling on the Bifrost, it leaps and bounds beneath their skin, the words which are known and should not be spoken sing through their mind.

With a last glance, Jon crushes the plastic in their hands. It drips and melts like plastic between their fingers, merging with the colours of the Bifrost. The not-them gives a tortured scream and flickers to nothing, the ringmaster drops no longer anything but a lifeless mannequin. All around the world the arms of the Stranger cry out and are silent forevermore.

Then the room goes dark. But Jon? Jon is still awake.

“Get out!” Jon yells in the direction of their assistants praying they can hear them, that they are safe.

The ground rumbles beneath their feet, in the distance they can hear something beginning to catch fire and footsteps but they cannot see, they are blind inside this darkness. Footsteps draw closer and then all Jon Knows is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! I'm sorry, not sorry about the cliffhanger. I hope you all enjoyed the different banishment and everything else that happened this chapter. Comments are always super appreciated, till next time (which will hopefully be sooner)!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all I'm back with another chapter. A huge thank you to everyone who commented on the last chapter! I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I think you all will like it as well. Read on and enjoy!

For a while all they Know is darkness, the pressing, cloying feel of it, it surrounds them, thick as a blanket of snow, burying them in it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, consciousness returns in little increments. The feel of air on their cheeks, how dry their mouth is and the bitter aftertaste that follows the realisation, they are cold, a sort of seeping chill that fills them up and yet empties them at the same time.

They shift or rather they attempt to shift, but their movements are halted by tight restraints which bind them to what feels like a chair. They blink and try to open their eyes but are greeted only by darkness.

Lyfrassir is uncertain if the darkness is that of a blindfold or of the room, they are in. Regardless, the darkness is complete, there are no shades of grey that their eye can pick out, no sliver of light from underneath a door. It is Darkness.

The thought spirals into realisation, the scant remembrance they have of before the darkness.

The Stranger? Gone.

They remember… fire. The ground shaking. Then Darkness.

They’re in an entity’s domain, or perhaps a mix of two with the way they are bound and the darkness that surrounds them.

The Eye will not find them here.

Jon exhales slowly and shifts once more, whatever binds them, it is strong and they doubt even with all their strength they would be able to break their restraints. They attempt to tug on their connection to the Eye, it feels staticky, as if they are in the tunnels beneath the Institute.

But the Bifrost? That is still there, they doubt anything will ever separate them from it but death. It hums beneath their veins, but it will not serve them here beyond an attempt at illumination.

Their assistants. Tim, Sasha, and Martin.

Did – did they hear them?

Did they get out?

Gods Jon can’t even contemplate them being captured. They’re fragile, human, they could be hurt and it would be because of Jon. They just have to hope they’ve escaped, that they’ll make a plan of some sort.

And if they can’t? If they leave Jon there?

Well it’s not like they’ll die anytime soon. They Know when they’ll die and it will not be on earth.

But they will be alone; like before.

Before the Mechanisms found them, in the aftermath of the train’s arrival. They were lost in the depths of space for what felt like a century (Brian said it was closer to six months with something knowing in their eyes), no human contact, just the weight of their loss the only thing grounding them.

Will they be alone again?

They don’t want to be alone.

Never again.

Something creaks in the distance. A door? Floorboards?

The sound of footsteps, muffled, barely audible among the sound of their own breathing fill the space they are in and then, “Hello Jon, apologies this isn’t how I would prefer to meet with you again. But well needs must and all that.”

“Elias,” Jon says, the name is muffled and falls from their lips with all the weight of a stone.

“Yes, I am sorry about the… well the Dark, I Know it is rather uncomfortable for one connected to the Eye. But we can’t risk anything you must understand,” Elias replies, his footsteps circle closer and for just a second Jon catches a whiff of the man’s expensive cologne.

“Risk anything?” Jon responds, their mouth is dry and the words feel like sandpaper on their tongue.

“Yes, you see Jon, we’re concerned about your actions,” Elias responds sounding like a well-meaning principle.

“We?” Jon questions feeling slightly like a parrot. They test their restraints once more searching for any sign of give.

Elias laughs, it is not a pleasant-sounding laugh, it is like an oil spill slick and spreading with a greasy feeling down their spine, “I couldn’t very well handle you on my own, and the other avatars were getting concerned, you’ve gotten quite out of hand Jon. Banishing other entities… hunting them. Obviously, they got worried, you can see the Dark’s hand, the Buried and the Desolation have also offered their services, and of course the Lonely."

Things aren’t looking up for Jon.

“Nothing to say? That’s alright I have plenty to say, Jon,” there is the sound of something scraping across the floor, perhaps a chair? Elias continues, “Where shall I start, there is so much to talk about. Did you know I was in a meeting with Simon Fairchild when you banished the Vast? No, I suspect not, you’re not the omniscient type are you, Jon? I watched as Simon, one of my oldest allies, faded to nothing before my eyes. Or shall I speak of your threat in the aftermath of the Prentiss incident? What was it? Something about ‘banishing the Eye’ and yet as I seem to recall both you and your assistants are all bound to the Eye. I can’t imagine you would sacrifice poor Martin for your cause.”

Jon makes a startled sound shifting on the chair to face the direction Elias’ voice is coming from.

“Oh, did I hit a nerve? Haven’t gotten that far in the plan yet. Not that I mind. I will admit Jon, that your actions have some merit for the Eye. After all, if there are no other entities then the Eye’s ritual will succeed,” Elias says his voice is thick with something smug and satisfied.

“And it wouldn’t normally?” Jon questions digging for what information they can grasp.

“You didn’t know? No, I suppose you’ve been focused on other things, haven’t you? Gertrude figured it out, but then she was going to burn down the Archives, a shame she was quite powerful. But yes, a ritual that encompasses only one Entity cannot succeed. I suspect the ritual must include all of the entities,” Elias says, his tone suddenly thoughtful, and for a moment Jon can see who Jonah Magnus might once have been.

“Even if it succeeded it would be a fraction of the true horror the entities are capable of,” Jon says quietly they stare in the direction where they Know Elias is sitting and continue, “I saw a whole galaxy devoured into nothing. Your planet is a speck of dust to these beings, barely even a morsel. Fear to them is merely an appetizer to that which they truly devour.”

“Perhaps you are right Jon, but I shall be the King of that ruined world.”

“No, you will be dead,” Jon replies with a shake of their head before they exhale, “What do you want Elias?”

“Perhaps I just came here to gloat Jon. Should I talk about how the Dark kidnapped the boy in preparation for this? You never did call Basira back did you? Or perhaps I should tell you what we are going to do with you Jon? Well, I think Sasha would make a great temporary Archivist while you are… out of commission. She’s been marked by quite a few of the entities already though I suppose that’s not necessary anymore. But alas, I’m getting off track, we will keep you here, in the Dark, in the Buried, in the Lonely, with only the Desolation for company, and we will keep you here for as long as you live. Perhaps, if another entity goes out of line then like a dog on a leash, we will send you after them. Or perhaps I shall just use you to complete my ritual, I suspect you already know how,” Elias says each word carefully driving them like stakes through Jon’s chest.

They are afraid.

Elias has not said as much but Jon Knows they will be tested, they will be poked, prodded. An eternity of nothing but darkness and pain. The others spoke of this, though only Brian knew the subject well.

They inhale and banish their fear. The Crew will find them, the Acheron could not separate them, nor the countless battles, revolutions, and wars they have seen. Even if it takes a century they will be found.

“Nothing to say?” Elias questions with a pleased little hum.

Jon spits in the direction he is sitting in and says, “Go ahead, try. I do not fear you and I do not fear death.”

“That was unnecessary Jon. Well, enjoy your solitude, I’ll let you know how Sasha is doing, give you a progress report,” Elias says with a sharp little chuckle, it is followed by the sound of fabric ruffling and the chair once more scraping across the floor.

Footsteps sound and then a door creaks open and clicks shut.

Jon is alone.

They are beginning to wonder if they’ve always been alone.

They had a family, once didn’t they? People who cared for Jon (is that their name?), who braided their hair and hummed melodies until sleep cradled them once more in its arms. But? They are gone, now aren’t they?

It’s all gone.

They’re alone.

Aren’t they?

It is dark around them, a choking sort of darkness without the twinkle of a star in the distance to break the monotony of space. Are they on that ship again? It was so cramped, the lights had gone out sometime after the first few months, running only on emergency power to keep the life support running.

They used to hear voices; they remember that. But whose voices?

Was there a comm? Someone out there?

No. Just Jon (Lyfrassir?) and the Black Box.

Are they still there? In that tiny cramped spaceship, floating lost and lonely through space?

No. They escaped; they were found.

Weren’t they?

Yes.

They are loved.

Loved?

Yes? Yes.

A man or what appears to be one he laughs, deep inside his chest and the notes of a violin float through the air. The scent of old books, a flute trills, a gentle hand twining through their hair. Blond hair that in the sunlight reminds them of gold (and someone else?), the scent of air sharp and biting, a scale.

More?

Yes, more.

A person, the scent of smoke, the pluck of strings, a deep voice. The beating of a heart through metal, a rough voice that knows the stars all too well. A man who laughs and laughs, gunpowder, and blood to hide the tears. The smell of polished wood, shining brass buttons, a cup of tea. Violin strings, cobwebs, the smell of oil followed by laughter. A chuckle, the scent of blood, calloused hands threading a needle.

These people. Lyfrassir (Jon) knows them.

They Know them.

They are loved by them.

Lyfrassir is that their name?

Inspector second class new Midgard transport division.

Midgard?

The Bifrost.

The screaming squamous things that lurk beyond reality, beyond the boundaries of sanity. Odin staring into the lens for hours, Loki cradling her head, the train, two charred skeletons and oh God those words humming, beating through their head.

“Well, well if it isn’t Elias’ pet Archivist, not so frightening, now are you?” A new voice says suddenly from within the darkness that surrounds Jon, they can hear footsteps circling ever closer and the hiss of a lighter flicking. A scoff and then the voice continues, “Not much to say huh? That’s alright, probably wouldn’t want to hear your voice anyways. I suppose you’re wondering who I am, want to make an informed guess Archivist?”

Suddenly, the room is blisteringly hot, the very air sits heavy in their lungs and they can feel their skin begin to burn, the sensitive layers threatening to peel away leaving gleaming white bones that will charr in the heat. Choking they roughly cough out, “The Desolation.”

“They said you were smart,” the woman says derisively she leans forward and the heart increases as she continues, “Names Jude Perry, I’m sure I’m in one of your stupid statements,” She says derisively, Jude pauses and then continues, “Elias said you didn’t know Gertrude, not sure how true that is, but let me tell you something Archivist. Our messiah, our leader, she died because of your predecessor. So, let me make something clear I won’t hesitate to kill you or any of your little friends. Actually, I’d rather enjoy it, Elias didn’t say anything about the tall one.”

Tall one? Tim?

“Go ahead try and kill me then,” Jon taunts, they carefully test the restraints which remain as binding as ever.

Jude laughs, “Sure and bring the Eye’s anger on my head? Elias would just send you after the Desolation like the dog you are. No, I prefer to live, and just you wait, Agnes will be back and the Desolation will burn this earth to the ground.”

A tap on his wrist, three in succession.

“What was she like, Agnes?” Jon questions forcing as much of the Eye as they can grasp into their voice.

The heat grows and they can feel their skin begin to blister as Jude leans into their space, “I wouldn’t try that on me, Archivist,” she leans back shifting audibly before she continues, “She was _powerful_ Agnes would have brought about the end of your precious Institute, burnt it to the ground, she would have bathed the world in fire.”

Jude’s voice is dreamy and just a touch longing before she continues in a harsh voice, “But then she met the boy, it ruined everything. She doubted. So, she died. But we will bring her back and it will be glorious Archivist.”

“So, what in the meantime you’re getting off on threatening me?” Jon demands shifting their hands and muffling a smile as they stretch out their wrists and something clatters almost silently to the ground.

“Watch it, Archivist, I don’t have to kill you to mar you,” Jude says, her voice hisses in their ears before she chuckles, high and mocking as she pulls back and continues, “I’ll leave you to it, Archivist. I have things to do, lives to destroy,” Jude pauses, “Oh and one more thing, I’ll leave you with a little gift.”

“Oh, gifts I love gifts old chap!” The Toy Solider’s chipper tone fills the small space and something in Jon’s chest finally uncurls as a hand, cool and strangely light settles gently on their shoulder.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” Jude demands taking an unsteady step back; Jon really wishes they could see what was happening.

“Why through the door of course,” TS replies clapping its hands together before it calls out, “I found the Inspector!”

The sound of footsteps follows that announcements and distantly, so distant as to be faint, Jon is certain they hear an explosion. A door creaks open and the scent of cigarette smoke fills the room as Ashes says, “Took you long enough.”

“She was monologuing, it’s important not to interrupt a monologue,” Toy Solider says in a tone that is vaguely scolding even as it helps Jon to their feet. They sway for a moment and blink trying to clear the darkness from their sight.

Nothing.

They sigh and glance in the direction of Ashes who chuckles, that low rumbling sound, “Need some help Lyf?”

“How did you get in here?” Jude demands once more, Jon can hear the hiss of fires crackling and consuming oxygen around them.

“I’d appreciate it,” Jon says quietly, the Toy Soldier has one of their arms slung over its shoulder and they pause to listen to the brief sound of a scuffle before Ashes evidently decides they’ve had enough and unloads their gun.

“You need her alive?”

“Mostly,” Jon chuckles and lets the Toy Soldier walk them forward, Ashes’ hand wraps around their own, warm and alive and leading them towards Jude.

Pulling on the Bifrost Jon inhales and reaches forward, the skin parts like melted wax and they tug, they pull forth that which is Destruction, which is the Desolation. That which takes and takes and leaves nothing left, that which consumes, that which is burning, salted earth, loss, grief, and mourning. That which is unforgiving, unkind, cruel laughter. All that is Desolation and Destruction.

They can feel the skin melt from their bones, which char in the hear and threaten to crumble to ash as they hold the Desolation in their hand. Distantly, they can hear Ashes curse and the Toy Soldier’s little surprised noise but they pay no notice as with a long exhale they crush the Desolation.

It ripples out in waves as all connected to the Desolation melt into wax leaving only the scent of fire and burnt human hair.

Jon slumps forward into Ashes arms gasping for breath as they ask, “You okay?”

“Really wish I could see right now,” Jon replies struggling weakly upright, TS helps steady them as Ashes presses a gun into their hands.

“We can probably arrange that,” Ashes says and Lyf knows they’re grinning as they wrap their hands around the gun, 56th century make, New Verona. Ashes continues, “Come on, Jonny and Tim are dealing with the extras. Your ‘assistants’ are waiting, and an officer? Is here to.”

“Daisy?” Jon questions as they are guided out of the room, they were being kept in.

“Is that its name? It tried to bite me!” TS says somewhat petulantly one hand swinging Jon’s back and forth as they walk, its wooden feet clunk on the floor.

“She does that,” Jon says the bullet wounds twinging in remembered pain.

They step out of a hallway and the sound of gunfire erupts, Lyfrassir can hear Jonny cackling in the distance and one of Tim’s big guns is definitely being used by the sounds. The ground rumbles beneath their feet and the air is chilly with the press of the Lonely.

“Inspector!” Tim calls out cheerily, “You’re looking in fine health.”

They raise one dubious brow and ask, “Seen any blind people?”

Tim doesn’t question it and replies, “They’re off down that way.”

Presumably, he points. Ashes just huffs and tugs them through the room, a bullet whizzes past and Jon sighs almost wishing they could join in. It would probably be excellent stress relief.

“The others?” Jon questions carefully as Ashes and the Toy Soldier’s guns fire presumably dealing with lackeys of one entity or another.

“Somewhere nearby,” Ashes replies as they enter another room. The Darkness is concentrated here, so thick it feels choking, like a blanket all but muffling the sound of their own breathing.

“Daisy!” Basira’s voice pierces the darkness and Jon stumbles forward their hand tightening around their gun.

“Throw the bitch in there,” A thick cockney-accented voice comes from Jon’s left and they whirl aiming their gun and firing. The first shot misses and Jon only has a moment to acknowledge the sound of something slamming shut before they shoot again and something collapses with a pained yell.

“Lyf?” Raphaellea calls out, accompanied by the sound of her wings flapping through the air as she lands beside them with a puff of air.

“Raphaellea,” They greet, reaching out until she tangles her fingers with their own, warm and so real.

“There’s a ninety-eight per cent chance that the man over there is connected to the entity known as ‘the Dark’,” Raphaellea announces, one hand tracing carefully over their jaw before she pulls back.

“Take me to him?” Jon questions gently. She laughs and one of her arms wraps around their waist before her wings spread with a snap and the ground disappears from beneath their feet.

The ground reappears suddenly, jolting up through their feet and to their knees, as a voice says, “If it isn’t the Archivist, enjoying the Darkness?”

Jon lunges forward and plunges their hand into the chest of Maxwell Rayner, with a harsh tug they pull that which is Darkness, that place before time, the emptiness, that which hides in the shadows, the thing under your bed or in the closet, it is the road at night treacherous, ditches at the side of the road. It is the deprivation of light, a lack of sensation, it is that which is unknown that must remain unknown. It is Darkness.

The Darkness writhes and roils in Jon’s hand as the darkness that clouds their vision attempts to stay, with a grunt they pull their darkness from the sight and finally crush that which is Dark in their hand.

They screw their eyes shut at the blinding light that fills their sight as around the world those of the Dark are flooded with light.

“Lyf are you okay?” Raphaellea asks gently, the feathers of her wings flutter over their eyes and with a grimace they blink.

It is warm and dark in the embrace of her wings and they sigh and say, “It’s bright.”

She laughs, and her wings flutter slowly away revealing the interior of an office building. They pivot slowly away from what remains of Maxwell Rayner and observe their surroundings.

Basira is handcuffed to a desk she’s straining forward staring at where a coffin rests on the office floor; it reeks of the Buried. Beside the coffin is a body in a mover’s uniform, hunched over that body is a person in a matching uniform. Ashes and the TS are shooting what look to be creatures made of dirt, and people dressed in pale colours who Jon presumes belong to the Lonely.

They turn and stare at Raphaellea, her hair is undone and it cascades around her shoulders in sheets of gold, she’s wearing her battle leathers, and her wings drape along the ground. She smiles and Lyf doesn’t hesitate to launch forward and wrap their arms around her.

“We missed you,” She says quietly her wings folding around them and one hand reaching up to tangle in their messy braids.

“Missed you all too,” Lyfrassir replies quietly before pulling back. They tangle their hand with Raphaellea’s and with a final nod march across the room towards Basira. They fire their gun at a few of the Buried creatures that threaten to come close.

“Jon?” Basira says carefully, studying them suspiciously as they snap the cuffs with a well-aimed shot.

“We can talk about it later,” Jon says as gently as they can offering Basira a hand.

She studies them for a long moment before she takes it, her eyes dart to the coffin and she says, “Daisy’s in there, they threw her in there.”

Jon’s eyes settle on the Coffin, they’ve read the statements, they Know about it, “We’ll get her out. I promise.”

Basira studies Jon for a long moment before she nods.

“Ready to go Lyf?” Raphaellea questions as she pauses beside them surveying the room which is empty of dirt people and the servants of the Lonely. Exhaling Jon nods and glances to the Toy Soldier.

“Can you make sure the Coffin gets to the Archives please TS?” Jon asks, carefully phrasing it as a question and not an order.

Its eyes flick from the Coffin to Jon before it nods, “Righto chap.”

“Any other avatars you want to hunt down while we’re here?” Ashes questions tucking their gun over their shoulder and sticking a cigarette in their mouth. Jon observes the office.

“See if we can find the Lonely,” Ashes nod and marches off down the hallway. Jon glances to Basira and passes her their gun, she studies it for a moment before she cocks it and nods with a grim smile.

They follow Ashes into the first room where Jonny is leaning against a pillar and casually waving a gun around, Lyf is half certain he’s talking shit again. Tim is sitting on a chair nearby casually cleaning his gun, he glances up when they enter the room.

“Lyf you can see!” Tim cheers and Lyf rolls their eyes and nods.

“I was expecting more violence,” Jonny says swaggering forward to fold them into a hug and ruffle their already messed up hair.

Lyf leans into the hug for a moment before they pull back and reply, “Just wait.”

Jonny pouts but Lyf can’t focus their attention on them as they turn their head and catch sight of Marius hovering in the doorway, Nastya, Brian, and Ivy already filtering into the room.

Before Lyf can really think about it they’re flying across the room and into Marius’ arms.

He sighs, one hand reaching up to tangle in Lyf’s hair as he says, “I missed you. We were worried.”

“I’m sorry, missed you too,” Lyf replies only holding on tighter before with a reluctant sigh they pull back and with a tiny smile they add, “Let’s get out of here.”

They end up at a buffet restaurant of some kind, it’s the only place with a table that will comfortably fit fourteen people. Lyf squishes themself in between Marius and Ivy and refuses to move even when TS flashes them its best puppy eyes.

There’s silence beyond the polite public conversation for a few moments as everyone grabs a plate and drinks and the like. There is a clear divide with the assistants at one end of the table (and Basira) and the crew filling up the rest of the table with Jon somewhere near the middle.

After about thirty seconds of awkward staring Lyf clears their throat and says, “So, uh has everyone been introduced?”

“Not really, it was a bit of a rush trying to save your life and all that,” Tim… office Tim? Timothy? Stoker? Stoker said with a shake of his head and a rueful grin as he leans back in his chair and twirls pasta around a fork.

Lyf nods and claps their hands together, “Right introductions then. This is the crew, Jonny D’Ville our first mate-,”

“Captain!”

“Ashes O’Reilly quartermaster, Gunpowder Tim master of arms, Nastya Rasputina engineer, Raphaellea La Cognizi science officer, Marius Von Raum our doctor who doesn’t even have a degree, Ivy Alexandria archivist, and Drumbot Brian our pilot, and of course the TS who provides moral support of dubious quality,” Lyf introduces the crew rolling their eyes at Marius’ offended look before they continue, “The Archive assistants, Timothy Stoker, Sasha James, Martin Blackwood, and Detective Basira Hussain.”

“I’ll have you know I don’t have a degree on a technicality,” Marius protests twirling the wine in his glass and glaring at Lyf who only rolls their eyes.

“Wait crew?” Basira questions studying the Mechanisms with a dubious expression.

“Ah you missed out on that explanation,” Lyf says succinctly and glances to Jonny whose shoulder straighten as he leans across the table.

With a wide grin he splays his hands in front of him and begins, “We are the Mechanisms, a group of immortal space pirates who travel the cosmos having fun where possible and violence where necessary. We tell stories through song.”

“You can’t be serious,” Basira says staring at Jon with narrow eyes, Martin looks absolutely enchanted, and Ashes is studying Basira carefully. Basira sighs and says, “This isn’t weirder than anything else I suppose.”

“Not really,” Lyf says with a tiny smile, “Hopefully this is as weird as it gets,” they turn to face to the crew and ask, “Are you all staying or is the narrative flow demanding your presence elsewhere?”

“At the moment?” Jonny asks with a wide grin, “No. In fact we apparently have a few shows scheduled sometime now around here.”

“So, you’re all staying here?” Sasha asks with wide eyes, her gaze darting from Raphaellea, whose wings are hanging over the back of the chair, to Ashes who is carefully flicking a lighter.

“Nope,” Tim replies with a grin popping the p before he adds, “Been a while since I’ve been to Earth, and last time we were here, someone,” here a glare at Brian, “Insisted on staying on the same continent. Might go explore the States they have nice guns.”

“I am also not staying,” Ivy says with a roll of her eyes glancing at Lyf before she continues, “Otherwise I _will_ take over your Archives.”

“I would say you’re welcome to it, but it’s a bit haunted,” Lyf replies with a shake of their head glancing at Stoker who’s muffling a laugh into his drink. Shaking their head Lyf continues, “And where are you all staying in the meantime?”

“Why in your apartment of course,” Marius replies with a cheeky smile winking at Lyf.

“My London apartment which you all would consider abysmally boring and dreadfully tiny?” Lyf replies taking a sip of their own drink and catching Sasha’s eyes.

The fuckers just nod.

“We’ll float around,” Brian says with a tired sigh staring at Ashes in particular, who has been known to burn down living arrangements.

“We can help with the housework!” TS says cheerily, they’re pretending at eating again.

Lyf contemplates embracing the table but decides ultimately it’s a waste of energy, “That’s fine. I assume you’ll be hanging about the Archives as well?”

“Of course, have to threaten your boss somehow,” Tim replies cheerily as he casually polishes a gun on the table.

They just roll their eyes before they smile and say, “I’m sure the extra hands for filing would be appreciated.”

Tim looks like he might be reconsidering.

“Jon,” Martin begins biting his lip and ignoring how Jonny grins all pleased and smug at Lyf before he continues, “Are we… should we go back to the Archives?”

Lyf pauses glancing at the simple tablecloth, a waiter bustles by intently ignoring their table. Glancing at each of their assistants in turn Lyf finally says, “You’ll have to. While you're tied to the Eye, you’ll have to return to the Archives. You won’t be able to leave, you’ll get sick unless Elias permits it. I’m sorry.”

“The fuck,” Stoker says scowling staring at Lyf like they’ve stabbed him, he continues, “Did you know when you transferred us there?”

“I… a little bit?” Lyf replies quietly glancing away unable to see their faces.

“But you have a way to release them Lyf?” Raphaellea questions gently one hand resting on their arm.

“Yes… well I think so. But there is a way to completely cut off the connection to the Eye,” Lyf replies glancing at Marius who shakes his head and ruffles Lyf’s head.

“What we have to blind ourselves?” Martin asks jokingly before he catches sight of Lyf’s expression and his face falls, “You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately, not,” Lyf responds before they inhale, “But I will find a different way, I promise.”

“Great, we’re literally contracted to a cult,” Stoker says with a little wave of his fingers, Sasha’s hand clasps onto his and she smiles at him, a little tuck at the corners of her lips.

Lyf isn’t sure what to say to that. How to apologize.

“So, what next?” Martin questions gently, his eyes connect with Lyf’s for a long moment before he glances away.

“We get Daisy out of the Coffin,” Basira says crossing her arms over her chest and studying Lyfrassir with narrow eyes as if testing them.

“I’ll go in,” Lyf says.

“Lyfrassir,” Marius protests, their name is gentled on his tongue. Lyf glances into Marius’ eyes trying to impart how this is their task, this is what they need to do. Not for themselves, not anymore, for their assistants, for the planet itself.

“I may be able to use the artefact to banish the Buried, it has a very strong connection,” Lyfrassir expands glancing away from Marius and to their assistants.

“I thought you said that wasn’t possible,” Sasha replies with a frown twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

Lyf nods taking a sip of their drink they say, “It’s unlikely but not impossible.”

“And what about Elias and the uh other avatars who kidnapped you?” Martin questions playing with the food on his plate, pushing it back and forth with his fork.

“I suspect that the arrival of the crew has thrown Elias off his rhythm, at least for a little while,” Lyfrassir says slowly hoping it is true, “In the meantime, I suppose we should just try not to get kidnapped.”

“We’ll be here so that should be somewhat discouraging,” Tim says with a grin that promises only violence, he leans and bumps his shoulder into Jonny’s who looks equally pleased at the promise of violence.

“It’s settled then,” Ivy says with a pleased smile before continuing, “The only thing that isn’t, is the check.”

“I’ve got it,” Lyfrassir replies and resolutely doesn’t think about how much their bank account will be hurting after this.

“So,” Martin begins after the laughter has somewhat died down, “What is space like?”

“Martin, we’ve got tales to be told,” Lyfrassir says with a grin and nods to Jonny, who rubs his hands together and begins to speak. Song is always their preferred format, but well a dramatic monologue is just as well sometimes.

Lyf glances around the table as Jonny speaks, at their crew, at their assistants; they’re home.

Elias is waiting in the foyer the first day Jon decides to return to the Archives. He rises to his feet, one graceful almost fluid movement, when he sees Jon and strides confidently forward as if those around him are but mere insects; to him they probably are.

Jon is tired, tired but happy. They’ve been cramped up in their apartment bedding down in a nest of pillows and blankets on the floor and listening to Jonny ramble for hours at a time, or Raphaellea expound on one new scientific theory or another. But they were all there, different from the Aurora, from the living room and the vastness of space stretching out from the glass, but there.

“Jon welcome back,” Elias says with a tight smile, the body of Elias Bouchard isn’t that old, but somehow Jonah Magnus makes it look it, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to you in my office about a few… _things_.”

“Unfortunately, I have a lot of work to catch up on, you know how things are when you’re absent for a few weeks,” Jon replies with a bland smile, tilting their head just so they can capture the flash of fury that flickers across Elias’ face before being swept under a rug of placidity.

With a slight tilt of his head Elias nods, a vein jumping at the corner of his forehead as he replies, “Of course, will your new… associates be visiting the Institute? If so, they will need a visitor’s pass.”

“I doubt it, the supernatural isn’t really their thing but I’ll be sure to tell them,” Jon replies with equal false pleasantry before adding, “Now if you don’t mind Mr. Bouchard I have quite a few things to do today.”

“Of course, do be careful Jon we wouldn’t want this job to be the death of you,” Elias responds with a smile that is perfectly pleasant and a tone that is all but plastic, but his eyes are alight with malice and Jon doesn’t doubt that if they weren’t in a room full of people this conversation would have gone far more unpleasantly.

“Good day Mr. Bouchard,” Jon replies finally and when the man makes no move to step aside, Jon carefully skirts around him.

Stepping into the Archives, Jon’s shoulders slump fractionally and they tilt their head back inhaling just for a moment the scent of dust, old books, and ink, by now it’s become a comforting scent.

Sasha is seated at her desk, headphones on and her hair shaking back and forth as she bops to the music. Tim is leaning back in his chair picking idly at his nails and staring at the ceiling above, cloaked in darkness as it is. Martin steps out of the breakroom with a few mugs in his hands and is aptly the first to notice Jon.

“You’re back,” Martin says with a tiny smile, one of those smiles that warms up their chest and reminds them fiercely of drinking with their mother on the colder nights in Midgard; instantly they are sombre once more.

“I-yes I made a promise and I intend to keep it,” Jon replies running a hand through their hair, Raphaellea and Nastya braided it for them last night and the plaits are a familiar weight in their hands.

Martin frowns his eyes darting in the direction of one of the empty offices, presumably where the Toy Soldier left the Coffin. Sasha has taken her headphones off and she’s studying Jon with a raised brow but its Tim who asks, “What didn’t want to spend more time with your polycule?”

They can’t quite tell if Tim is teasing or jealous but they blush nonetheless as they reply, “They have things to do, or rather at least places to be.”

“Did Elias try to talk to you? I’m pretty sure he has a message just waiting to ask you up to his office,” Sasha questions twirling a strand of hair around her finger as her gaze settles on the door to the Archives.

“Yes.”

“Yes?” Martin asks twisting his fingers around the mug in his hands.

“He was very polite,” Jon says carefully before continuing, “Of course he couldn’t really _do_ anything well we were in the main foyer and I refused his offer of a more private meeting. Still he did manage one threat.”

“Aren’t you worried?” Tim questions with a low chuckle leaning further back in his chair until it threatens to tip.

“A little bit but there’s not much I can do at the moment,” Jon replies shifting on their feet, their eyes dart to the room where the coffin is being held.

Sasha frowns, “And what if he gets you alone?”

“Then I trust the crew will be able to find me,” Jon shrugs, “Like I said I think we have a little time.”

“More time for him to plan something,” Tim says with a scowl crossing his arms over his chest.

Jon just tips their head shrugging off their coat they respond, “More time for us to find a way to separate you all from the Eye other than blinding yourselves.”

Glancing longingly at their office they cross the room towards the empty storage room. Martin makes a startled sound and says, “Jon wait you’re not going in there, today are you?”

“No time like the present, I shouldn’t be too long,” Jon replies with a shrug one hand resting on the doorknob, they glance at their assistants, catching Martin’s frown and Sasha and Tim trading a glance, they add, “I won’t be gone too long… hopefully. Marius and the Toy Soldier might pop in through the tunnels at some point so don’t be surprised if they’re here.”

“What about Basira?” Sasha questions twisting her hair further around her hand as she stares at Jon with narrow eyes.

They frown considering it for a long moment before they reply, “If I’m not out in a week call her. If I’m out before then I’ll call her myself.”

“Anything else boss?” Tim asks with a frown that’s some parts concern and other parts annoyance.

“If you all have the time please look into some of the Avatars, the names Oliver Banks, Jared Hopworth, and the Lukas family might bring in some results,” Jon replies carefully as they study their assistants.

“You’ll be okay Jon?” Martin asks twisting his hands into the folds of his jumper.

“I’ll try to be and that’s really all that matters. Stay safe, and don’t hesitate to call any member of the crew if you need help,” Jon says gently and before any of their assistants can respond they step inside the dusty storage office and shut the door behind them with a click.

There are a few filing cabinets, likely full of statements, half-sunken into the ground, a light which flickers every few seconds, and in the centre of the room rests the Coffin. The very ground around it seem sunken in, as if the Coffin holds some innumerable weight.

It looks, for the most part, like a normal coffin, barring of course the nails tacked into the door and the words scratched into the front which read _Do Not Open_. It certainly at first doesn’t look like the kind of thing that consumes people. And yet, there it is.

Inhaling deeply, Jon thinks of the crew, of their assistants, and opens the Coffin. Stairs greet them, leading down into darkness, into the Buried. They step onto the first step and don’t glance back.

The Buried is suffocating.

This is not a surprising fact to Jon, not in the slightest. But it does not diminish the nature of the Buried in any way, it presses in on all sides and keeps pressing and pressing. Their ribs creak and groan in their chest, their spine as they crawl through a tiny tunnel cries out in agony and threatens to buckle completely.

And still it presses.

The dirt is constant. The taste of it is constant, it becomes mud on their tongue, thick and impossible to swallow, but they have to breathe somehow. So, the dirt settles in their lungs and their stomach, thick, heavy, weighing them down, down, and filling each breath.

It sticks to their skin, to their braids, to each and every part of them that it can find, it Buries them in it until all they know, all they’ve ever known is the dirt and the pressing around them.

They crawl forward, dragging their body over hard-packed dirt which scrapes and drags at their arms.

It whispers.

Stay here. It is safe here. It is comforting here. No one can harm you here. You cannot harm anyone here. Stay. Stay. Stay.

Lyfrassir crawls forward another scant few inches and opens their mouth, they call out but their voice is a harsh whisper, “Daisy!”

There is no response, only the dry rasp of their throat mourning the lack of moisture. What they wouldn’t give for a drink of water. They crawl forward as the walls press down around them.

Why are they doing this?

They could turn around, return to the Archives, to their Assistants, their Crew.

They could be safe there.

But they made a promise.

“Daisy!” Jon calls out once more, forcing what strength they can into their voice. They push through the dirt, through the pressing weight that surrounds them and they listen. Sometimes, they hear whispers, faint snatches of words from the other souls Buried deep beneath the earth.

They hear one such whisper now.

It is faint.

“Sims,” The voice calls back, but this voice, it is not a soul who has been Buried for countless years. This voice is stronger.

“Daisy!” Jon calls back and the voice comes again, stronger still.

Jon pushes forward through the dirt, through the tight spaces which cloy and suffocate until they trip into a tiny, so tiny as to be non-existent, opening. Daisy is curled on her side; she is caked in a fine layer of dust and through the fingers covering her eyes she peers out at him.

“They throw you in here too?” She asks, her voice is rough and as Jon crawls closer the dirt clawing at their knees, they can see suddenly how thin she is.

“I came in here willingly,” Jon responds quietly and finds a convenient wall of dirt to lean against. They tuck their legs up to their chest and watch Daisy with wary eyes, they long suddenly and fiercely for Midgard, with it’s open streets and markets.

Daisy rolls over to face them, she glowers for a moment a mix of suspicion and anger before she demands, “Why the fuck would you do that?”

“I made a promise,” Jon says wincing as the ceiling presses down on their head and shoulders. Daisy raises a dubious brow and they add, “To Basira. I’m one of the only ones who would get out with you.”

“I tried to kill you,” Daisy says scowling but there’s something like hope shining in her eyes.

“A lot of people have,” Jon replies with a shrug exhaling faintly as the ceiling finally stops pressing before they continue, “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Daisy frowns glancing away from Jon for a long moment before she admits in a whisper, “It’s quiet here, I can’t feel it here.”

“The Hunt?”

Daisy nods scowling she glances away from Jon.

“I may be able to fix that,” Jon admits, they glance at the walls which surround them before they continue, “It might kill you though.”

“I don’t want to die.”

“Most people don’t,” Jon replies rubbing at their fingers which are smudged with seven different layers of dirt.

Daisy glances sharply at them for a long moment before she sighs, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Follow me and think of Basira,” Jon says and begins to crawl forward. For a moment there is silence, but then they can hear the scrape and shuffle of Daisy following slowly behind them.

The Buried isn’t fond of the idea of anyone escaping.

It presses tight around them, attempts to suffocate them, to bury beneath their skin until all they are is the dirt.

Daisy growls low in her throat and demands, “How likely is it that – whatever it is you’re going to do, is going to kill me?”

“Depends on your connection to the Hunt,” Jon replies, they glance over their shoulder at her and add, “At the moment I’d say maybe a twenty-five percent chance.”

“You don’t really care either way, do you?” Daisy asks as they continue to crawl forward, all Jon can taste is the dirt.

“Not particularly no, you did try to kill me after all,” Jon replies, frowning as the walls press, they think resolutely of Marius’ laughter, Ivy curled around a book, Raphaellea combing her fingers through their hair.

“That’s fair.”

“I do like Basira, so if it’s any consolation I don’t want her to be sad,” Jon adds as they crawl forward a few more inches. It feels as if they’ve been in the Buried for centuries, Jon has lived almost as long outside of the Buried and yet still time feels frozen.

Daisy scoffs but there’s something almost gentle to the sound, “You’re not too bad Sims, still a dick.”

“Thanks just wait till you meet the crew,” Jon replies, forcing the words past the dirt. Distantly now, they can hear whispers, the faintest hint of voices, but these are familiar, are Known.

Daisy doesn’t reply for a long moment but when she does, she says, “Basira was thinking of quitting the force. After she didn’t come home from that mission… I knew she was alive; thought maybe she had left. She didn’t though.”

“No, I’m sorry she was involved,” Jon says as they crawl forward.

Daisy grunts, “I owe a lot to her.”

“Maybe you both can take a vacation after this,” Jon jokes hissing as their spine threatens to give out. They’re close, they know it.

“I can’t retire not yet. But… I have a safehouse up in Scotland she would like, or one up in Wales,” Daisy admits before continuing softly, “They’re both real secluded places, no one for miles around.”

“Sounds nice,” Jon says without heart. They couldn’t be anywhere without people anymore, they need people, they need their crew.

Daisy snorts but doesn’t comment on their lack of enthusiasm.

“Do you hear that?” Daisy asks suddenly and if Jon strains, they can hear faintly a familiar voice, Martin’s? They glance back at Daisy and with a smile continue moving forward.

They must be getting close because the Buried begins to press harder around them, it saps the air from Jon’s lungs, it attempts to grind their bones into dust, it seeps into their being, it pillages all that is.

And then.

Then it pulls back and when Jon blinks they can see the stairs in front of them, a few shoots of light slant onto the packed dirt and the air isn’t quite so stale. Daisy breathes, a rush of air and they say nothing as they rise to their feet, their bones and muscles protest the movement but Jon is too elated to care.

They turn to Daisy who is struggling to rise and offers their hand. She glances up at him, her eyes are dark but they no longer belong quite so singularly to the Hunt and with a toothy grin she takes it.

Slinging her arm over their shoulder, together they stumble up the stairs.

At first the lid of the Coffin refuses to give way but with a harsh jut of their shoulder it creaks open spilling at last fresh air and the artificial light of the storage room. Jon inhales deeply even as they pull Daisy out.

She winces and her eyes snap shut even as she takes an unsteady step out of the Coffin and onto the cool linoleum of the Archive floors.

Jon gently lets her slide to the ground and turns to face the Coffin which sits there, perfectly unassuming but for the words scratched into the front.

“Jon?” A voice questions, full of hope and probably a good deal of worry too.

They glance over their shoulder, its Martin staring at the two of them with wide eyes, one hand clasped over his mouth. Jon waves their fingers and says carefully, “Would you mind calling Basira and getting Marius, Martin?”

“Are you going to try and deal with it?” Martin asks tilting his head at the Coffin and studying both Jon and Daisy with a dubious look.

“I’ll be fine,” Jon reassures Martin with a tight-lipped smile that hopefully hides how exhausted they are, how much they want to just curl up with their crew and never leave. Martin stares at Jon for a long moment before he nods and retreats.

“Can I watch?” Daisy asks tilting her head to study Jon.

They return their attention to the Coffin and reply, “Sure, but stay back I’m not sure if this is going to work. Haven’t tried it with an artefact before.”

Daisy grunts and that’s enough for Jon.

They reach forward, pulling on the Bifrost, and their hand _sinks_ into the Coffin. With a harsh inhale they pull that which is the Buried, Choke, Suffocation, that which is pressure, dirt filling your lungs, a lack of air, bones creaking, muscles atrophying, it is that which is the absence of space, that which fills and fills, that which is weight that crushes and presses down

With a final tug they unearth the Buried, it drips mud onto the floor and chunks of dirt, it attempts to encase their hand, a heavy stone of packed earth that shifts slowly, innumerably in their hand. With an inhale they lean forward and blow, their breath is the air of Midgard, the mists of the Bifrost, and the Buried collapses into nothing.

The Coffin gives a great creaking groan and the wood splinters into ash leaving only a dip in the linoleum floor. Around the world, the Buried collapses unto itself at last and is no more.

Lyf falls back gasping for breath and blinking out the dots of darkness that swim across their vision.

“You good Sims?” Daisy asks sounding half amused and a tiny bit concerned.

“Not really but I will be eventually,” Jon responds inhaling a few deep breaths and trying not to faint.

The door opens and Martin bustles inside with two mugs in his hands, he stares at Jon for a long moment before he rolls his eyes and with a kind smile offers a mug to Daisy and then one to Jon as he says, “’I’ll be fine’ he says.”

“I will be, eventually,” Jon retorts as they take the mug of tea and sip at it. Martin makes an excellent cup of tea and Jon sighs leaning against the wall beside Daisy and letting their head tip back.

“So, it’s gone?” Daisy asks sipping at her own tea and then flashing Martin an appreciative smile.

“From this plane of existence? Yes,” Jon replies, Daisy blinks and ah right explanations, “Martin can you or Sasha explain it to her later?”

“Of course, Jon as long as you actually take a break,” Martin replies with a pleasant smile that is at best vaguely threatening, at worst completely threatening. Jon just nods and Martin brightens up once more.

The door creaks open again admitting Marius, whose eyes sweep the room, likely noticing the sunken floor before landing on Lyf. He chuckles and with a tilt of his head says, “It’s like that time on Spaceport 7.”

“That was far more preferable to this,” Lyfrassir replies with a scowl and reaches out. Marius shakes his head with a fond smile and pulls Lyfrassir to their feet but doesn’t pull them into a hug.

Lyf smiles gratefully and tangles their fingers together before with a sigh they pull apart. They glance at Martin and Daisy, for a second, they catch a flash of something hurt on Martin’s face but it is gone in the next, Daisy just looks contemplative.

“I could really use a shower,” Jon says with a grin.

Daisy snorts, “A hot bath.”

“You think they’re going to start reminiscing on fresh air soon?” Marius whispers to Martin who snickers and rolls his eyes fondly at the two of them.

The door creaks open and Basira steps inside, her eyes lock onto Daisy and go wide, hope lodging itself in her throat. Daisy looks equally struck and Jon doesn’t doubt that if she could she would stand to greet her.

Glancing to Martin and Marius’ they tilt their head, Marius nods and wraps an arm around Lyfrassir and guides them out of the storage office. Martin follows behind leaving the door open behind him.

They’ve just finished recording a statement and have settled at their desk with the vague thought of lunch, which Jonny packed for them so it is likely of dubious quality (it will still taste good somehow), when the door to their office slams open.

“Hello Ms. King,” Jon greets barely muffling a sigh. It’s not that they're unhappy to see her, rather they were looking forward to a normal day as those seem to be in short supply as of late.

“Sims,” Melanie greets her gaze sweeping around the office before landing on Ashes who is lounging on their couch and happily setting a false statement on fire (relax its been digitized, and is sure to annoy Elias), “And?”

“Ashes, one of my partners,” Jon says with a tiny proud smile.

Ashes rolls their eyes at them with a low chuckle and rises to their feet, “I’ll see you later, eat your lunch or else Jonny and Nastya will be sad.”

“Alright, alright. Do you know when the others will be back?”

Ashes pauses in the doorway, they adjust the brim of their hat with a shrug and reply, “Sometime in the next few weeks probably, we have a show around then. Course we’ve played without Jonny and Brian before.”

Jon just nods and Ashes grins and shuts the door behind them with a tiny click.

Melanie raises a brow when Jon returns their attention to her and with a shy smile, they run their hand through their hair, which is finally free of dirt and say, “Sorry. Is there anything I can help you with Ms. King?”

She studies him for a long moment before she replies, “I want to work here.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do, I’m pretty sure I know what I want,” Melanie replies with a scowl, she has her hands planted on her hips and is studying Jon with narrow eyes that barely hide the anger lurking there.

“Trust me Ms. King you don’t want to work at the Institute,” She opens her mouth to respond and they continue, “If you sign a contract of employment you will be unable to leave the Institute, you will be tied to it, forced to come into work. Not to mention it really is rather dangerous.”

“You’re kidding,” Melanie says leaning back in her chair to stare at him with bored expression.

Jon sighs and scrubs a hand over their face before they reply, “I’m really not. If you choose to work at the Institute, I cannot stop you, but you must be aware that until I deal with the Eye, you will be tied here.”

“The Eye, what are you a cult?”

“Basically yes, though with some rather unwilling participants,” Jon replies wondering if they sound as tired as they feel, they’re almost done or rather at least halfway done, and their crew is here.

Melanie studies them for a long moment before she sighs, her shoulder slump and she says, “What am I supposed to do then? Just move on with my life? I don’t really have one anymore.”

Jon frowns considering it for a moment before they reply, “At the moment you won’t be able to move on, you’re marked.”

“Marked?”

“By one of the Entities, think of them as eldritch horrors, the Slaughter. If you’ve been feeling extreme anger lately that’s why. Though I can’t say what marked you other than your encounter with the war ghost in the train car,” Jon replies they carefully watch Melanie waiting to see if she’ll attack.

Instead, her expression flashes from surprise, to anger which is quickly bottled away, then to acceptance before she asks, “So, what do I do about it?”

“I should be able to get rid of it… whatever it is. If you’d like?”

Melanie sighs picking at a hole in her jeans before with a roll of her eyes she says to the floor, “When I was in India I got shot by a ghost.”

“Let me guess none of the scanners picked up a bullet?” Jon replies thoughtfully. She glances up surprised and nods, great that makes things more complicated, “It’s still there.”

“What?”

“The bullet it’s still there. I should be able to remove it, though I warn you it will probably be incredibly painful,” Jon warns her carefully as they shift a few of the statements on their desk.

“And what happens if I don’t take it out?” Melanie demands crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in the chair to study Jon.

“For certain? I don’t know. But I theorize that eventually the anger will lead you to violence, against those in your life and around you, and beyond that? You would likely be reduced to a senseless killer.”

Melanie blinks her mouth hanging open for a second before she snaps it shut and nods, “If you’re trying to do this for some weird experiment or whatever-,”

“I’m not Ms. King, trust me this is both in our best interests,” Jon replies gently, Melanie raises a brow and they know she won’t agree unless she understands their motivation, they continue, “When I remove the bullet I will likely also be able to deal with the Slaughter to… banish it. It will save many lives and it won’t harm you as you’re not fully connected to it.”

“And afterwards? You’re just going to send me on my way?” Melanie demands picking at the holes in her jean again even as she stares straight at Jon.

“I- I have a friend, I think you’ve probably met her briefly. She... she knows about all of this,” Jon says and when Melanie raises a brow, they supply her name, “Georgie Barker, she has a podcast?”

“What the Ghost, yeah I’ve heard of it. You sure she’ll take me in?”

“Yeah we go back, she uh helped me settle in,” Jon replies with a tiny smile, thinking of trying to acclimatise to Earth’s culture, which is somewhat similar to Midgard’s; they were still doing pretty bad until Georgie walked into their life.

“Yeah okay. We going to do it now?” Melanie asks glancing around their office with a touch of disdain.

“If that’s alright with you Ms. King?” She nods, “Alright, let me just get my assistants and we can begin.”

They rise to their feet and push open their office door, Martin, Tim, and Sasha are all talking together and though they are loathe to interrupt they call out, “Sasha, Tim, Martin I need your assistance.”

“Coming,” Martin calls out, Jon catches a glimpse of hands tangling together before they retreat into the office and turn to face Melanie.

“You can sit on the couch if you’d like. Where is the bullet?”

Melanie rises to her feet and settles on the couch, which is very comfy if a bit lumpy, and replies, “My leg, here.”

“What did you need help with Jon?” Tim asks as the three assistants traipse into their office.

“I’m going to extract a bullet from Ms. King’s leg, and hopefully deal with the Slaughter at the same time. If necessary, can you please restrain her, only if necessary,” Jon replies glancing at Melanie who grimaces but nods once.

Sasha shares an uncertain look with Martin and Tim before they settle on either side of Melanie, hovering and waiting to jump in if necessary. Jon kneels on the ground beside Melanie’s leg and glances up at her, “I’m going to pull the bullet out now. This will hurt.”

She nods.

Jon inhales and pulls on the Bifrost, lets the colours dance beneath their skin and the words hum in the back of their mind as they reach forward. Their hand sinks through layers of muscle until they wrap around the bullet. Distantly, they can hear Melanie screaming and feel her thrashing, but they pay it no mind as with a harsh tug they dig into what the bullet is connected to and they pull.

They pull the bullet from Melanie’s leg and with it the Slaughter, that which is blood and violence, destruction pure and simple, it is a battlefield, it is cries of madness and the horns and drums of war blaring early in the morning. It the ripping, tearing, shredding of all things, it is anger, and fury, and venomous hate. It is Slaughter.

Blood drips from the bullet onto their hand, pooling on the floor and mixing with the colours of the Bifrost as the bullet burns their hand. With an inhale Lyfrassir clenches their fist and the Slaughter melts into nothing, the metal drips onto the floor mixing with the blood and is gone.

Melanie gasps sharply and for one moment she looks deathly pale and the blood gushes from her leg. But it passes and the colour returns to her face as Martin stems the bleeding even though there is no wound to be seen.

“It’s over?” Melanie asks voice tight with pain.

“Yes,” Jon says with a tiny smile before glancing at the mess on the floor with a shake of their head.

“If you all could stay with Melanie for a moment? I need to make a call,” Jon says gently as a tape recorder clicks off in the distance.

They nod and Jon rises to their feet and tugs out their phone, with a wince they press the contact and hold the phone up to their ear. It rings for a moment before finally, a voice comes from the other end, “Jon?”

“Hello Georgie.”

“Any chance of violence in the near future?” Jonny asks leaning casually over their desk, he has a cigarette drifting lazy wisps of smoke dangling from his fingers and a part of Lyf is just twitchy thinking about it; they forcefully tap that part down.

Lyfrassir shrugs, “You’ll forgive me if I’m not particularly looking forward to it at the moment.”

“What no bloodlust? Come on Lyf, I saw you on Yavin 5, with the axe, you were devastating,” Jonny replies leaning back and flinging his arms out beside him in a wide gesture before he brings one hand in and takes another puff on his cigarette.

Lyf raises a brow and shakes his head, “Yes but here I have to worry about causalities, and I’m still recovering.”

Jonny sobers instantly and says quietly, “Right the Coffin. If you hadn’t dealt with it-,”

“You would have thrown it into a star I know you’ve told me Jonny,” Lyfrassir responds gently and reaches out resting their hand on the desk.

Jonny blinks and with a roguish grin, the one he is certainly proud of, he reaches across and rests his hand over top of Lyf’s, “I know, still won’t stop us from worrying about you _Jon_.”

“Yes, yes, you can stop being smug about that now,” Lyfrassir replies rolling their eyes as they set down the statement they were glancing over and asks, “The others are getting in next week, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, thereabouts Tim was bitching because Nastya wouldn’t let them take the Aurora so they were stuck on a plane,” Jonny grins wide and gleeful before he leans back and takes another drag of his cigarette, “Think they have something for you too.”

“Oh?”

“It’s a surprise apparently, Ivy’s words not mine,” Jonny responds sounding all too pleased about that fact. Lyfrassir frowns but knows that nothing short of a miracle will drag it out of Jonny. Instead, they lean back and reach out making grabby hands.

Jonny rolls his eyes but passes Lyfrassir the cigarette, they grin in thanks and take a long inhale.

“I missed your cigarettes, the ones here don’t have the same kick,” Lyfrassir says before being interrupted by a bout of coughing as they pass the cigarette back. Jonny just raises a brow and casually takes another puff.

There’s a knock on the door and Tim pops his head, he observes the two of them for a long minute before with a grin he says, “I see you two are getting up to lots of work.”

“Oh, you know how it is here… filing,” Jonny replies with a casual wave of his hand.

“Uh-huh filing,” Tim replies with a shake of his head before he frowns and continues in a sombre tone, “Elias wants to see you in his office Jon.”

“Excellent,” Lyfrassir says with a pinched smile and reaches into their desk drawer tugging out a knife.

Jonny frowns stubbing out his cigarette on the arm of the chair, gods forbid he stubs it out on the ashtray right in front of him, and with a grin that is all bloodthirst says, “I’ll come too, after all he wants to see Jon.”

Tim glances between the two of them for a moment before he sighs scrubbing a hand over his face, “You two have fun with that. I’ll just pretend I didn’t see or hear anything.”

“Probably an excellent idea,” Lyfrassir replies with a tiny smile before continuing, “If we don’t return please alert the others and also Sasha is the de facto leader, she’s the most sensible of all of us.”

“I resent that remark,” Tim says with a false scowl before it slips away and he continues in a softer voice, “Be careful Jon, we need you.”

“I will,” Jon replies staring into Tim’s eyes until he nods and closes the door shut behind him with a click.

“Very touching,” Jonny says somewhat mockingly, but not really, he’s always a bit mocking, Lyfrassir doesn’t take it to heart.

“Come on, best not to keep Elias waiting,” Lyfrassir replies rising to their feet and tucking another blade up their sleeve with a flash of grin in Jonny’s direction. They step outside the office with Jonny following lazily behind.

Lyf nods once to Sasha and Martin before they slip out of the Archives and into the rest of the basement.

“Anything I should know about your boss beforehand?” Jonny questions. When Lyfrassir glances back he has his hands resting behind his head and looks a moment away from whistling a tune.

Lyf’s eyes flicker upwards and they reply, “Basically omniscient, has and will kill to achieve his goals. Think Odin and then aim lower by a lot. He’s not half as terrifying.”

“Few things are as terrifying as her from what I hear,” Jonny replies his hands drop to rest at his side hovering over his gun as he asks, “Do you think this is going to get ugly?”

“It’s unlikely but not impossible. It depends on how angry he is that I’ve dealt with the Buried, the Desolation, and the Dark,” Lyf replies with a shrug.

“And how angry the other factions will be?” Lyf nods Jonny continues, “How many are left to deal with?”

“The Hunt, the Flesh, the Lonely, the End, the Web, and the Eye,” Lyfrassir replies as they step into the elevator. With a ding the doors slide shut and Lyf forces their breath to remain even, Jonny reaches out and wraps his hand around Lyf’s.

“Hey that’s not too bad,” Jonny says, “More than halfway done.”

They make a vague sound of agreement and Jonny sighs and gently rubs their thumb in a circular motion over Lyfrassir’s hand.

“What are you going to do afterwards? Earth is a nice place and that assistant, the one with the tea, he’s been eyeing you,” Jonny says half teasing and half-serious.

Lyfrassir frowns staring at Jonny as the elevator continues to rise, they respond, “I’m coming with you all… that is if I’m still welcome?” Jonny nods, “Martin is nice, but he’s still mortal. I- I can’t live a normal life – I’ve been exposed to you all for too long.”

“Hey we’re a very good influence,” Jonny protests as the elevator opens with a chime onto the top floor of the Institute.

“Yeah a good influence on how to kill people in thirty different ways,” Lyfrassir replies as they step onto the plush carpet and walk forward. Jonny just rolls his eyes as they pass Rosie who opens her mouth to protest but doesn’t get a chance.

The doors swing open to Elias office without so much as a creak. The office is large and empty, with scant pieces of old, obviously valuable, furniture and objects scattered seemingly at random. Elias is at the other end of the room sat behind a large ornate desk and filling out a few sheets of paper.

Lyfrassir makes no assumption that he doesn’t know they’re here.

After a few minutes of silence that attempts to be awkward, Elias sets down his pen and glances up at the two of them with a plastic smile glued onto his face, “Jon welcome, I believe I only requested the Archivist’s presence so if you wouldn’t mind departing this is confidential-,”

“Nah I’m going to stay, the other alternative is I could shoot you,” Jonny replies and in a blink of the eye has his gun pointing at Elias’ heads; he’s one of the best shots on the crew next to Tim, its too bad Elias doesn’t know that.

Elias blinks and Lyf can see the moment where he is debating whether or not to believe Jonny before he rolls his eyes maintaining his façade of control as he responds, “Of course, please sit down.”

Lyfrassir does so, unwilling to drag this out any longer, but Jonny remains standing, hovering behind Lyf like some sort of armed guard (it reminds him of that one time with the mafia and the heiress… they’re getting sidetracked).

“Now Jon, I want to speak to you about what happened last month.”

“You mean the kidnapping you helped organize,” Jon replies with a frown crossing their arms over their chest.

Elias, to give him credit, only blinks, “Yes that one,” Jon doesn’t say a word, “I would appreciate it if you would refrain from hunting any of the other entities. I’m in a very tenuous position at the moment.”

“I’m not going to stop,” Jon replies quietly, seriously.

“Now Jon, you must understand, of all the fears, the Eye is quite vulnerable. If the Institute were attacked in an attempt to… deal with you. Well that could be disastrous for both of us, the staff including your assistants could be involved, and I’m certain there would be _causalities_. The Institute serves as a place of power, if the Archives were destroyed…”

“That won’t happen while we’re here,” Jonny replies before Lyfrassir can.

“And why ever not?” Elias asks with a perfectly bland smile that does nothing to hide the malice hiding behind it.

“Let’s just say we’ve dealt with our fair share of… destruction,” Jonny replies, he steps around Lyfrassir and leans across the desk, “In fact I would recommend you give the Archivist some space.”

“It would give you more time plan Jonah,” Lyfrassir adds with a very tiny smile, “I’m sure you can think of something to stop me that isn’t a simple kidnapping, can’t you?”

Elias frowns narrowing his eyes and Lyf can see the man’s mind racing before he smiles pleasantly, “Of course Archivist.”

“Then that concludes our meeting? I’m afraid I have a visitor,” Jon replies, carefully watching Elias. The very air is thick with tension and Jonny beside them is a live wire just waiting to connect.

“We wouldn’t want to keep our guests waiting,” Elias replies lips pinched at the corners and not reaching his eyes as he continues, “Be careful Archivist, it isn’t wise to antagonise those bigger than yourself.”

Lyfrassir laughs, “I’d say the same to you Magnus.”

Rising to their feet they turn and leave Elias’ office, Jonny following behind after no doubt delivering a threat to Elias. They step out of his office, which for all its empty spaces was cloistering and Lyf nods to Rosie as they make their way to the elevators.

“Well that was certainly interesting,” Jonny says with a grin as they step into the elevator, reaching out and tangling his fingers with Jon’s.

“That’s one way to put it,” Lyfrassir replies leaning their head back against the wall before with a sigh they continue, “He’s infuriating.”

“Most bureaucrats are and he’s Victorian so doubly so,” Jonny replies tipping his head against Lyf’s.

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open onto the basement. Lyf hums in agreement as they step out of the elevators and begin the walk to the Archives, “Think he’ll try anything.”

“He’ll certainly find or do something nasty, the plot demands it,” Jonny says with a shrug.

“I hate when you say things like that.”

“It’s worse when Brian says it! Those ones always come true,” Jonny retorts waving one hand for emphasis before he continues, “Besides see enough and you start to see a pattern.”

“I’m still too young to know right?” Lyf responds with a roll of their eyes as they draw closer to the Archives.

“Yep, still a baby compared to me,” Jonny replies with a wide grin.

“Says the guy who still looks nineteen,” Lyf replies teasingly glancing at Jonny and catching the faint wince before it’s quickly buried, they quickly add, “Besides Brian’s older than all of us with how long he spent in that star.”

“You’re still holding a grudge,” Jonny replies as they push the doors to the Archives open and step inside.

“Of course, I’m good at that. Hello Daisy, nice to see you again, how are you and Basira doing?” Lyfrassir greets as Jonny shuts the door behind them with a click. Daisy is sitting on one of the spiny chairs her arms crossed over her chest.

“Sims. Basira quit the force, I’m taking an extended leave,” Daisy replies with a grunt before she pauses and adds a touch gentler, “I’ve been doing physiotherapy, you?”

“Not much of a fan of crowded space these days,” Jon replies with a shrug leaning against Jonny for a moment before they watch him walk off to talk to Ashes.

Daisy just nods in understanding, she pauses glancing down at her hands before she glances back up at them, “I want you to do it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I know the risks. Do it,” Daisy replies rising to her feet and stalking forward to stand in front of Lyfrassir.

“Alright,” they inhale and pull on the Bifrost which hums and burns beneath their skin, they glance into Daisy’s eyes, their own a kaleidoscope of colour, she nods once, they plunge their hand into her chest.

They find that which is the Hunt, the Chase, blood pounding, heart racing, adrenaline, what’s behind you? Teeth nipping at your feet. It is the crack of a branch at the wrong moment, the puff of breath on your cheek, the hair rising on the back of your neck. Body moving as fast as possible, the ground shifting beneath your feet. Run. Run. It says. Fight, flight, freeze, which will you choose?

With a harsh exhale Jon pulls that which is the Hunt into the world, blood drips from their fingers, their breathing grows ragged. The Hunt is red, it is blood, eyes in the darkness and then with a final crush of their hand it is nothing. The Chase, the Hunt is over.

Daisy collapses to one knee, blood trickling from her lips, and the breath rushing harsh from her lips as around the world the Chase finally stops. Jon sinks to the ground beside her distantly aware of Martin and Tim hovering along with Jonny in the background.

“It’s over?” Daisy questions.

“It’s over.”

Jon sets the statement down with a faint sigh, feeling exhausted and desperately wishing they could just go home already. Running a hand through their hair they rise to their feet, casting one last glance at the stacks of paperwork on their desk. Tea. Tea is a good idea.

Before they can even exit their office the door swings open and Martin steps inside, he has a mug of tea in his hands and he blinks in surprise before saying, “Oh Jon I was just going to bring you some tea.”

“Thank you, Martin,” Jon reaches out and carefully takes the mug, which has an orange cat on the side. Jon takes a slow sip of the tea feeling it warm their chest before they glance up at Martin with a tiny smile, “It’s excellent thank you.”

Martin blushes, the colour lighting up his face before it quickly falls away in the place of a frown, “Jon…” Martin shakes his head with a faint barely there smile, “Never mind, anything else I can get you?”

Jon wants to push, wants to ask but they’re unsure if it is the Eye or just plain invasive, they settle for, “Has there been any leads on the list of names I gave you all?”

Martin brightens up slightly hands fluttering at his sides as he replies, “We uh haven’t been able to find anything on Oliver Banks, but Sasha thinks he might have an alias of some kind.”

“It’s certainly possible, he’s of the End, so I would suggest checking registers for the deceased,” Jon replies taking another long sip of tea.

Martin nods and continues, “Tim found the location of the Lukas family mansion, which apparently wasn’t hard, so that’s one option for the Lonely. However, there’s also a Peter Lukas who, from what I can gather, is connected to the Institute, he has a cargo ship, the Tundra.”

“I’m familiar with the name.”

“Right, uh anyway we also found a connection to that other name Jared Hopworth?” Jon nods and Martin grins in his element as he continues, “So, uh apparently he has a gym? Its probably going to turn up in a statement, but it appears normal at first, everything checks out, Tim went to scout it out. However, there’s definitely something going on there, the guy at the front desk according to Tim was ‘supernaturally massive’,” Martin finishes tucking his hands behind his back.

“Those exact words?” Jon asks with a grin and Martin rolls his eyes and nods, “Alright, see if you can find me an address, I’m not certain if Hopworth will be there but it’s worth investigating.”

Martin nods and with a little smile, Martin has a lot of them, he says, “I’ll look into it.”

He opens the door and pauses on the threshold as a few familiar voices drift through the doorway.

“Looks like we have guests,” Lyfrassir says following behind Martin who rolls his eyes but heads out into the main section of the Archives.

“This is absolutely heartbreaking,” Ivy says to Lyf as soon as they step into the room, she’s spinning around glancing from the shelves, with statements spilling out of boxes, to the complete lack of proper storage in general and then back to Lyf.

“And this is with what I’ve done so far,” Lyfrassir replies in complete agreement, if they’re being honest, they are highly tempted to unleash Ivy on the Archives.

Tim behind Ivy shakes his head with a grin and bumps his shoulder against Brian’s, he just waves at Lyfrassir.

“How was America?” Lyf questions leaning against the doorway and just drinking in the sight of them for a long moment.

“Boring,” Tim says with a frown crossing his arms over his chest before he amends with a tip of his head, “They did have a lot of guns.”

“And racism,” Brian interjects his face shifting into the frown expression.

“Yeah that too,” Tim replies offhand.

Ivy rolls her eyes, after dragging them away once more from the shelves and says, “There was that thing with the officer.”

“Right, right,” Tim replies and at Lyf’s raised brow expands, “There was an officer following us, I think it might have been of the ‘hunt’ and then there were two people following behind the officer.”

Brian picks up where Tim leaves off, “The officer pulled us over, and the other two hunters got out of their car. Tim was pulling out his guns, Ivy was reading, when-,”

“They disintegrated!” Tim interrupts obviously excited over the fact and probably a bit sad about the missed fighting.

“Ah, that was probably my fault,” Lyfrassir replies running a hand through their braids, which earns a soft huff of laughter from Ivy who is already drifting closer to the shelves and likely will not come out again.

“We searched through their stuff and found this,” Brian adds digging through the pack at his side until he holds out a book in his hands, it’s leather bound and hums with that which is beyond reality.

“Jonny said you had something for me is this it?” Lyfrassir questions as they take a step closer, pausing to press a kiss to the cold metal of Brian’s cheek. His eyes crinkle as he shakes his head.

Ivy is the one who responds, “We saw these and thought of you.”

It’s a pack of cello strings.

“Thank you,” Lyfrassir says letting her arms wrap around them as they tuck the cello strings into their pocket.

“Go on we can wait, we’ll go pester the others,” Tim says taking the book from Brian and pressing it into Lyfrassir’s hands.

They roll their eyes but wrap their fingers around the book nonetheless as they reply, “Alright, I’ll see you all tonight before your show?”

“Of course,” Brian responds reaches forward to wrap his hand with Lyfrassir’s.

They smile and watch as Brian, with a great amount of difficulty, attempts to extract Ivy from the Archives; a stalemate is reached and Tim and Brian leave the Archives sans Ivy. Lyf just shakes their head nodding to Martin and Sasha before retreating to their office fingers skimming over the cover of the book.

Jon settles at their desk placing the book in front of them, they have a few guesses as to what it might be but they suppose opening it will be the surest answer. Inhaling, Lyfrassir flicks open the cover and stares at the seal embossed on the inside of the cover _From the Library of Jurgen Leitner._

Flipping to the next page, Jon flinches back into their chair at the sight of human skin serving as the pages of the book, and on them is writing, quite clearly written in blood. Jon’s first inclination is to believe the book might somehow be tied to the Stranger or even to the Hunt, but they are both gone and so are their artefacts.

Which leaves the Hunt and Jon is almost certain that however grotesque the nature of the book itself, it doesn’t belong to the Hunt.

Rising to their feet Jon makes their way over to one shelf and begins to flip through the statements there, all the ones marked to reoccurring names and there, _Mary Keay_. Pulling out the statement, Jon returns to the desk unable to tear their eyes away from the skin book.

They scan through the statement, but all of the details line up. If its true, then there is an artefact of the End in front of him, one which similar to the Coffin, Jon may be able to use.

Scrubbing a hand over their face they glance once more at the book their curiosity rising and coiling, only encouraged by the eye.

With a sigh, they open the book once more and flip through the pages, most of the names are unfamiliar, no great notations in the catalogue of history, all but nameless but for their presence in this book.

Towards the end there are two familiar names.

The first is Eric Delano, Mary’s husband and a former assistant. Jon stares at the words for a long moment, willing themself not to read the words, trying to ignore the knowledge of what Mary did to her own husband. It's funny sometimes how monstrous humans can be, so much worse than forces beyond reality.

The last page has a familiar name, Gerard Keay.

Jon hesitates for a moment before they open their mouth and begin to speak the last moments of Gerard Keay.

He appears slowly, translucent enough for Jon to see the chair behind him, and in a hospital gown with his badly died hair and his arms crossed over his chest. Gerard studies Jon for a long moment after the words have trailed off.

“You killed the other two?” Gerard asks studying Jon with narrow eyes.

“In a manner of speaking,” Jon replies carefully, they bite their lip and at Gerard’s expectant expression they continue, “I’ve been… dealing with the entities and those tied to them.”

“So, what you can just kill the entities?” Gerard asks disbelievingly one brow cocked and his lips pursed into a frown.

Lyfrassir frowns, they’re not quite sure why they’re explaining themselves to a ghost, “It’s more like banishment. Look believe me or not, ignoring why I would lie to a ghost, I’m not from Earth. The fears destroyed my universe and traveled here to Earth, I was the only survivor and couldn’t let them remain here if I have the power to deal with it.”

There’s silence for a long moment where Jon can watch disbelief, anger, a touch of despair and finally acceptance.

“You know what, sure. So, what do you want from me?” Gerard demands shifting on his feet before materializing a cigarette.

“I uh I’m not sure really,” Jon shrugs, “Unless you know the location of Annabelle Cane or Oliver Banks?”

Gerard studies Jon blankly for a moment before his head twists around glancing at the office with a slow dawning sort of realisation before finally falling back on Jon, “You’re the Archivist. When did she…?”

“A few months after you. Elias killed her,” Jon responds quietly.

Gerard laughs, a wet croaky sort of laugh, and rubs his hand over his eyes before he straightens, “Always expected she would go out with a bang. You’re the new Archivist?”

“Yes.”

Gerard nods and takes a puff of his cigarette, “I’m sorry I can’t help you with those names, most of my information is likely out of date. You’ve stopped the Unknowing at least?”

“A few months ago,” Jon replies and then expands, “And the Stranger too.”

Gerard nods glancing away for a long moment, staring beyond the walls of Jon’s office, “Wish you were around when I was younger. Too late to change things now though,” he turns to face Jon, “Can I ask a favour of you?”

“Of course?”

“Burn my page? Heck burn the whole book I don’t care, as long as I can’t be used anymore,” Gerard glances into Jon’s eyes, he sounds _defeated_ as if he expects Jon to deny him this request as if he’ll just be used again.

“Okay, I promise,” Jon says quietly, they stare into Gerry’s eyes willing the man to believe him.

He smiles tenuous and a touch frightened, “Thanks, my friends call me Gerry.”

“Be at peace Gerry,” Jon replies and watches as he fades away.

Exhaling Jon studies the skin book for a long moment before they pull on the Bifrost and reach into the book. They search for the End their brow furrowing as they find… it’s not nothing, but it isn’t enough, it slips through their fingers like oil leaving only a greasy residue behind. Inhaling, they reach once more only to come up short, like trying to cover a canvas with too little paint.

Leaning back in their chair, Jon studies the book before with a shake of their head they rise to their feet, there’s a waist basket by their desk filled with a few sheets. Jon reaches over and drops the book into the bin staring at it for a long moment before they dig their lighter out of their pocket.

It takes a few flicks for the flame to light; they stare at the book sitting in the basket for a long second where distantly they can hear the Eye protesting before they touch the flame to the paper. It catches quickly and Jon watches as the leather of the book curls up and blackens to ash.

When the flames have flickered to nothing leaving only a ruined wastebasket Jon exits their office, the smell of smoke trailing behind them.

“I’m going to Artefact Storage,” Jon announces quietly to their assistants, if they squint, they can still see Ivy in the shelves.

“What? Why?” Tim questions tilting up from where he was leaning back in his chairs.

“I need to test a theory,” Jon replies shifting on their feet, itching to do something.

“I’ll come with you,” Sasha says, they open their mouth to protest and she continues, “It’s better to be safe Jon.”

“I-alright,” Jon agrees and nods once to Martin and Tim before following Sasha out into the basement hallways.

She’s silent for a moment as she walks in front of him before she asks, “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“I tried to deal with the End using a Leitner and it didn’t work.”

Sasha’s steps slow for a moment as she glances over her shoulder at him, “But the Coffin worked.”

“Yes, and that book didn’t,” Jon replies running a hand through their braids, “Using an artefact may be the only way to deal with the Web.”

“Hence a theory,” Sasha says as they pause outside of Artefact Storage.

Jon nods and muffles a shiver as they push the door open, there’s someone at the front desk, a Lila by the name tag who glances up and says, “Hey you’re the Archivist right?” Jon nods, “Need an artefact for a statement?”

“Actually, I was wondering if we could look around?” Jon asks with a tiny smile.

Lila hums and with a grin replies, “No ones supposed to be looking around even with clearance,” she leans forward, “A bunch of the stuff just went missing lately, _poof_ , but for the Archivist, I’m sure an exception can be made.”

“Thank you,” Jon replies as she presses a button and the door slides open, Sasha nods and follows them into Artefact Storage. The shelves loom around them, they might once have been full of strange objects, but they’re all but empty now.

“See if you can find any Leitners please Sasha, but don’t touch them unless you have something to prevent skin contact,” Jon asks as they carefully scan the shelves.

Sasha nods and walks down the shelves disappearing behind one row. Jon returns their attention to the shelves, they can see a candle that’s half burnt, wax dripping down the sides, there’s a meat slicer, the type they use in delis, and an elegant necklace, each link and jewel in the shape of an eye.

Jon trails their fingers over the objects dipping into the Bifrost and trying to pull.

Nothing. Or at least nothing connected strong enough to the entities.

Sasha returns with a thin stack of books carefully held between a towel; her expression pinched in a frown.

“Well?”

“It’s not a difference between the books and the other artefacts,” Jon replies leaning against an empty shelf.

“Well, what makes the Coffin and the book different then?” Sasha questions setting her stack of books on the shelf.

“The Coffin contains the domain of the Buried? It quite literally is its own domain. It had a recent victim? Gerard Keay was the skin book’s last victim and that was a few years ago. The skin book isn’t a domain, not really,” Jon replies with a frown, tugging at one of their braids.

“So, either, as far as we can tell, the thing has to be directly connected to the entity, or had a recent victim?” Sasha asks, her eyes scanning over the empty shelves.

“Apparently so,” Jon says with a sigh, they glance at their watch and continue, “Bring those books to the Archives, I doubt they’ll be of any use but it will be worth a try.”

Sasha nods tucking them under her arm and glancing at her phone before she asks, “Going to watch your crew play tonight?”

They smile, soft and tucked up at the corners and nod.

Sasha just rolls her eyes and follows them out of Artefact Storage.

The gym was located in a quiet part of town, an empty sort of town that you wouldn’t want to be caught alone at night in. Thankfully, Lyf wasn’t alone, they glanced over their shoulder, where Jonny was picking the lock, to Tim, Ashes, and Marius.

Their assistants were safe in the Archives, or as safe as they could be if something happened.

Lyfrassir inhaled and tightened their fingers around the hilt of their axe. Everything would be fine if they kept telling themselves that, maybe they would believe it.

The lock clicked and Jonny made a small sound of triumph stepping back and swinging the door open as he whispered, “You said they’re probably somewhere in the back?”

“Yeah in the lockers, that’s what the statement said,” Lyfrassir replies stepping inside the gym. The foyer is nice enough, clean, with clearly old furniture, but not so old as to be unusable; it just looks vintage.

The others file in behind them, Ashes shutting the door with a soft click as they cock their gun.

Glancing over their shoulder, Lyfrassir nods once and leads the Mechs into the locker room, the lockers are large, too large. They look more like a strange morgue, and the knowledge of what’s in them only makes that comparison feel right.

“Is he in one of these?” Marius whispers studying them with wide curious eyes, Lyf has no doubt if Raphaellea was here she would already be investigating.

“I’m not certain, check carefully,” Lyfrassir responds stepping forward and pressing on a locker. It opens with a hiss revealing a large man, whose muscles bulge out of his skin, then his eyes flick open.

“Fuck,” Lyf has a moment to curse before the lights overhead flicker on and the man begins to step out of the locker.

Lyfrassir stumbles back holding their axe in their hands as other people? Bodybuilders? Step out of the lockers, their muscles bulge grotesquely, they’re missing ribs, or have too many, their proportions are off, almost cartoonish.

Then the first one lunges and Lyf doesn’t have any time to stop and stare.

They duck underneath the swing of a bodybuilder and slice upwards; their axe cuts clean through the man’s arm and it thunks to the ground with a loud _thud_. They both stare for a second before the bodybuilder roars and lunges forward once more.

Lyf ducks under their punch and swings their axe up cutting straight through the man’s skull with a sickening crunch.

Every Midgard citizen is battle-trained.

“Lyfrassir I think he’s here!” Marius calls out as he whirls around and slices his sabre across the neck of a female bodybuilder.

There’s a large _thud,_ one that shakes the ground and at the other end of the hallway appears Jared Hopworth. He towers over everyone, extra limbs hanging like dead weight from his body which bulges and seems to shift before their eyes.

Lyfrassir inhales dragging on the Bifrost and rushes forward swinging their axe.

It sinks into Hopworth’s chest with a slick sound, right where his heart would be, Lyf is guessing he has more than one by the way Hopworth chuckles.

“What’s this, the Archivist?” Hopworth asks as Lyf leaps back, the colours of the Bifrost are spilling around them, dripping on to the floor and shining from their skin.

Lyfrassir doesn’t respond just launches forward again. Hopworth is big and strong, one blow would probably be enough to crush their spine, but he’s slow. They duck around his fist and bring their axe down on his arm.

Hopworth grunts in pain and one of his arms, on the same side, whips out slamming into Lyfrassir. They stumble back and with a snarl, they wipe away the blood on their face and launch themself forward.

They sink their hand into Hopworth’s chest and pull forth the Flesh. They pull that which is the body, meat, a swarming packed room, the whir of blades, terror, meat is meat. That which is slabs hung up to dry, that which is the taste of flesh on their lips, hot rivulets of blood, muscle, sinew, and bone. It is a body too thin or bulging with bodies, all lines erased to be perfect.

Lyfrassir is flung against a wall, but they hold the Flesh in their hands, it is a beating heart, that drips blood, it’s hot, pumping in and out, in and out.

They crush it in their hands.

All around them, the bodybuilders stumble and begin to collapse, their skin shrivels, their muscles atrophy and deteriorate, their eyes and internal organs rupture and melt onto the floor. Jared Hopworth is the slowest of all but he too soon collapses into nothing.

Lyfrassir sinks to the floor the room spinning and their head echoing and humming, loud, so loud, the rumbling of the train.

They open their mouth to say… something.

But all that comes out is, “Y'AI 'NG'NGAH.”

Their eyes widen and they glance at Marius pleadingly. His eyes go wide and he rips the gun from Jonny’s slack fingers and with apologies in his eyes aims the gun at Lyfrassir’s head and fires.

Then nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! This chapter was so long lol, over 16K, but it was fun to write, I hope you all enjoyed the Mechs appearing as well :) I know some of them didn't get a lot of screentime but they'll be getting a bit more next chapter. Lol I went from juggling like five characters to fourteen. The next chapter will be the last chapter, unfortunately. Comments are always super appreciated, till next time!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!! We are here with the last chapter, I had so much fun writing this fic and I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did. Read on and enjoy!!

For a time that isn’t quantifiable, whether it is long or short, a millennium or the span of a few seconds, all Lyfrassir knows is darkness. It is a familiar sort of darkness, not like that of the Dark, or the Lonely encroaching darkness of space outside their ship’s window. It simply does not wish them any ill will, nor indeed any goodwill, it is just darkness. Plain and simple.

Time passes in whatever measure it chooses in that darkness and for a long or short time, all Lyfrassir is aware of, is that darkness. There is no sensation, no warm, no cool, no pain, nothing. Just dark. 

Then, the darkness begins to fade to grey, it is a slow change, or maybe it is fast like a film sped up, the black bleeding to grey and then from grey to white and in reverse until it settles.

Lyfrassir is aware of themself then, or at least partially aware. They glance down and see hands and arms that have borne the weight of their task, are these theirs? They feel their hair braided and a tangled mess, is it theirs?

Who are they?

Lyfrassir.

Who is that?

Midgard Transport Police, Second Class Inspector Lyfrassir Edda, Jonathan Sims the Archivist. 

A woman appears, she drifts, she walks slowly forward and then back and then to the side until she is standing in front of Lyfrassir. Her eyes are sad and a little bit lost even after all these years, but she smiles, a tiny little smile, and one of her hand’s rests gently on their cheek.

She is crying, and they think they might be crying too.

Then she is gone and the darkness returns. It wipes away their tears, cradles them, and for a time they are safe.

“Lyfrassir.”

They cock their head, the name a faint whisper. They are Lyfrassir, yes?

Yes.

“Lyf wake up…. Please.”

The words come again, they pierce through the darkness, they burrow inside their brain. This voice, they know it don’t they?

They don’t want to wake up. They are tired, so very tired.

The darkness whispers _Hush, then stay_.

“Lyfrassir.”

That voice again, Marius’ voice. Marius. Raphaellea, Ivy, the crew, they would be unhappy if they stayed, wouldn’t they?

Yes.

They should wake up now. They have so much work yet to do, but they are close.

The darkness whispers _Don’t go, stay_.

“Lyfrassir.”

They wake up.

_Crack_

Lyfrassir comes to suddenly, without warning, the darkness stripped away and the world awash in too bright light. They flinch back slamming their eyes shut even as the world around them buzzes with noise that their ears can’t yet process.

Something warm and heavy wraps around the back of their head, they blink and force their eyes open, staring up into Marius’ eyes. Tears are spilling down his cheeks and he is silent but for the rough sound of sobs as he stares at Lyfrassir with wide hopeful eyes.

Lyfrassir blinks and shifts before letting out a hiss at the spike of pain that lodges itself in their head. Marius inhales, a sharp sucking sound before he says in a choked voice, “I – we didn’t know if you were going to come back this time. Don’t do that to me Lyfrassir.”

Come back?

They had died and Marius had been the one to place the bullet between their eyes.

If he hadn’t…

They had died before, too many times to count, too many ways to name, it had never been like that. Their vision bathed in colour as their body attempted to stick itself back together; never just darkness.

“Sorry,” Lyfrassir gasps out, the word is sharp on their tongue and their voice is croaky. The words, _those words_ hum behind their lips, sealed beneath the line of their teeth but only temporarily. It’s already too late.

They glance over Marius’ shoulder, they’re lying on the ground they realise, to where Jonny is studying the bodies with a disinterested expression that’s trying to muffle a frown. Ashes and Tim are smoking, speaking in soft voices, and Tim glances over at them every few seconds.

Marius pulls back, muffling a sob into Lyf’s shoulder as his hand brushes the back of their head, the sticky feeling of dried blood matting their hair. They glance at Marius, whose expression is despondent as he offers a hand, “Think you can stand?”

“I’ll try,” Lyfrassir responds and bites down on the words, they shove them as far back as they go until its only a bitter taste on their tongue. It’ll be enough for now.

Marius just nods, his expression is grim and though no one is saying anything yet they all know its an inevitable discussion.

They take Marius’ hand and let him pull them to their feet, they sway for a moment, a combination of death and the adrenaline crash as they lean heavily against Marius’ side and glance around the locker room.

There are bodies on the floor, misshapen forms that hardly look human and remind Lyfrassir far too vividly of some of the planets on the outer sects. There’s the stale scent of blood on the air and cheap cleaning supplies.

“How long?” Lyfrassir asks quietly running a hand through their braids and trying, and failing, to get some of the dried blood out.

“An hour,” Jonny says, resolutely not looking in their direction. Lyfrassir’s eyes flicker to Tim, who nods, and Ashes, who is frowning and stubbing out a cigarette beneath their heel.

“It’s never taken that long…” Lyfrassir mutters under their breath, not for a simple bullet. They scrub a hand over their face and wish desperately they were in the apartment, curled up with the others.

Marius nods rubbing his hand over their shoulder, “Technically Jonny holds the score after only his pinkie was left.”

The comment earns a bout of rough laughter before Ashes sighs and says, “I’m sick of this place can we go?”

Jonny glances to Lyfrassir, “Yeah, yeah we can go.”

They’re silent as they file out of the building, Lyf lean on Marius’ shoulder and don’t look back.

The street is cold and empty late at night, a taxi passes by, the lights splashing across their silhouettes before that too fades. Ashes tips their head glancing at Jonny who rolls his eyes and nods.

Tim grins and elbows Ashes’ before strutting off to the rental car. Ashes glances at Lyfrassir for a long moment before they offer one of their cigarettes. Lyfrassir nods in thanks unable to muster a smile as they take it.

Jonny offers them his lighter, it has a cheap-looking dice painted on the side, and they light up in silence.

They cough, Ashes’ cigarettes are usually quite potent.

Finally, Jonny sighs, “Lyfrassir.”

“I know I – I just need to finish this,” Lyfrassir responds quietly. The air is cold and the dried blood only invites it to bite sharply at the back of their head.

Jonny frowns but it's Marius who continues, “And what happens if you banish another entity and it happens again?”

“Then – then you shoot me again.”

“You can’t ask me to do that Lyfrassir,” Marius says his voice is thick, all clogged up as he adds, “You made us promise you this.”

“We can’t risk it happening here,” Jonny says, he knows the words are a low blow and he does look vaguely apologetic that he said them. But it’s true. If Lyfrassir finishes the chant, the ritual, those beings beyond reality will come forth and this whole planet, this whole galaxy will be gone in the span of a day and this time there would be no survivors, just Lyfrassir.

Not even the Mechanisms could survive that.

“Then don’t let it happen,” Lyfrassir says, “There’s only four more entities to deal with. If it starts to happen again, I’ll… I’ll do what it takes.”

“Lyfrassir,” Marius says their name quietly, full of emotion that they want to take the time to unpack but can’t.

Ashes and Tim return before anyone can say anything else, Tim has two jugs of gasoline in his hands, and Ashes is smiling, their really pleased smile, they’re even whistling a jaunty tune as they flick their lighter.

“Jonny come help,” Ashes demands, Jonny looks like he might protest before he wisely decides to follow Ashes, not without throwing Lyfrassir a last look before ducking inside the building.

Then it's just the two of them alone on the desolate street.

Marius shifts, turning to face Lyfrassir, and they follow in kind, the streetlight is faint and a dull yellow, but it illuminates enough for Lyfrassir to see Marius’ expression, the darkness of his eyes before he steps forward.

Lyfrassir steps forward to meet him, lets his arms wrap around them. They press their head to his chest and listen to the sound of his heart beating, his metal hand is cool against Lyfrassir’s back but they can’t find the means to care.

“We could have lost you and it would have been my fault,” Marius whispers into their hair, the words barely even above a whisper.

“I’m here, I’m alive,” Lyfrassir responds folding their hands into the back of Marius’ coat before they pull back slightly, “Besides everything dies eventually.”

“Even us.”

“Even us,” Lyfrassir responds solemnly.

“We’re not going to let you do this alone Lyf,” Marius says with a soft sigh, “We’ll stay with you so that if it happens again…”

“Thank you.”

Marius nods and leans forward to press a kiss on their forehead where the bullet struck before they step back. Just in time as the doors to the gym swing open again with a creak and Ashes steps outside, Tim and Jonny following behind them.

Ashes glances at them and nods once, Lyfrassir nods in return as Tim sets the empty jugs of gasoline on the ground beside his feet.

With a flick, the lighter catches and a flame appears, the light dances across Ashes’ face, illuminating their grin as with a low chuckle they toss the lighter at the gym. It catches quickly, Ashes has always been good at that, though Lyf appreciates the slow fires a touch more.

Within a few minutes, fire licks at the windows and doors and smoke curls into the air, there aren’t any fire alarms ringing, probably because Ashes disabled them, but the firefighters will be here in a few minutes regardless.

The four of them watch in silence until the first sirens pierce the air.

Going back to the Archives the next day is strange. Everything feels… well normal. They can still feel the words humming at the back of their mind, but its simmered down again leaving only the knowledge that it _can_ happen.

When they step inside, they can see the Toy Soldier is already there smiling cheerily and holding two mugs of tea; Martin is glaring rather viciously at it. Tim is the first to notice them spinning in his chair he grins gently and asks, “How was it, boss, good hunting?

Jon shrugs, as Sasha perks up from her computer and the Toy Soldier swivels to attention, they reply, “The Flesh is gone.”

“Righto chap! I’ve made some tea,” TS responds offering one mug, still purposefully ignoring Martin glaring with resentment from his desk.

Jon laughs, barely even a laugh, and takes the mug cradling it to their chest before they take a slow sip, it’s perfect but well that was what the Toy Soldier liked to do in its free time, they add, “I did die though which sucked. Almost released an eldritch horror too. But hey we burned the place down so all in all a fun night.”

For a moment it's so silent one could hear a pin drop before Sasha finally says, “Died?”

Jon nods. The TS frowns but doesn’t add anything even as Martin makes a squeaking sort of sound and asks, “Eldritch horror?”

“Yes, the thing that destroyed the Bifrost, Yog Sothoth,” Jon replies taking what little enjoyment they can from the shock on their assistants faces.

Tim make a sound comparable to a groan and requests, “Team meeting?”

“Oh, team meetings! I love team meetings!” The Toy Soldier cheers clapping its hands together before it turns to Lyfrassir and adds, “I’ll go find Ivy.”

“Are any of the others here?” Lyfrassir questions taking another sip of tea.

The Toy Soldier nods and announces, “Brian and Raphaellea are in the research department, they seemed very excited!”

“Could you please find them TS?” Lyfrassir asks carefully. The TS nods and salutes before marching out the door. Lyfrassir watches them go for a long moment before they settle in one of extra chairs and glance at their assistants.

“I’m sure you all have questions,” Lyfrassir begins.

The assistants nod, Sasha takes off her glasses, cleaning them before she settles them back on her nose and asks, “This ‘eldritch horror’ it’s the same one that destroyed your universe?” Jon nods, “How would you be able to summon it?”

Lyfrassir hums leaning back in the chair, they’re quiet for a moment trying to think of how to phrase their answer before they eventually settle with, “I’m still connected to the Bifrost, which is of those beings beyond reality. I form a sort of chain, a link, through which those beings could enter our world if I – use the correct phrase. Sort of like a ritual I suppose.”

“So, you just say a few words and then the apocalypse would happen?” Tim asks, his voice is tight but also a little bit pitying.

“Not the apocalypse, annihilation, this whole galaxy gone in the blink of an eye,” Lyfrassir responds gravely, studying their hands so they don’t have to see the horror on their assistants faces.

Before anyone can comment on that piece of information the doors to the Archives swing open, admitting, Brian, Raphaellea, and Nastya, along with the Toy Soldier who grins in a proud sort of manner and announces, “I’ll go find Ivy now.”

“Good luck with that,” Brian says with a roll of his eyes as he enters the Archives, his feet clanking against the linoleum floor as he settles on one of the chairs with a faint hiss and creak; the assistants are trying not to stare again.

Nastya immediately drifts to look at their ancient climate control system while Raphaellea flutters over, her wings making a soft sound as she leans over and presses a kiss to their forehead before commenting, “There is an 89.9% chance the Toy Soldier will fail at removing Ivy from the Archives.”

“I know, did you like Research?” Lyfrassir responds wanting to fold themself up against Raphaellea.

She tilts her head, likely sorting through what she saw before she finally nods, “It was satisfactory. I would like to do more research into how the entities affected the Earth, but I suppose that will have to wait.”

Jon nods and glances to their assistants before continuing, “Currently, the only entities we have left to deal with are the End, the Web, the Lonely, and of course the Eye. Did you find any leads on Oliver Banks or Annabelle Cane?”

Sasha nods pulling out a few files she frowns and replies, “Apparently, he used the identity of a Dr Thomas Pritchard on the research trip to Point Nemo which ended with the death of all crew members on board due to falling space debris.”

“So, another dead end,” Tim says cheerily.

“It likely means he’s still alive, there may be a statement on it, see if you can find it please,” Jon replies with a shrug glancing to Brian who shrugs, his eyes darting around the Archives. They all sort of forget who Brian used to be sometimes, he doesn’t talk about it much.

“What about Annabelle Cane?” Nastya asks peeking out from one of the shelves where she’s rooting through a box of what may be future technology likely associated to one entity or another.

This time it’s Martin who frowns and says, “The only clue we have is Hilltop Road, otherwise nothing.”

“So, we may have to pursue that as our only option,” Lyf replies with a sigh combing a hand through their hair they add, “I may even be able to use what connection the place has to the Web, if we can get close enough.”

“Which leaves the Lonely,” Raphaellea adds fiddling with a device she probably swiped from Research.

“You still have the Lukas mansion address, Tim?” Jon asks leaning back in their chair and studying the shelves for any sign of either the Toy Soldier or Ivy.

“Yep,” Tim replies pulling out a few sheets of paper.

“It will likely be difficult to get to,” Brian comments.

“I’m more concerned about what will happen inside the mansion,” Raphaellea says pointedly glancing down at Lyfrassir for a long moment before she continues, “The Lonely appears to be one of the more sinister of the entities.”

Lyfrassir considers it for a long moment, before they add, “Those touched by the Eye might have an advantage in this situation. If I recall correctly, in the Lonely it's important to have an anchor, it doesn’t have to be physical, it can be a person, or a thing, just something you love.”

“And what if there aren’t any Lukas’ members there? What if they’ve got wind of it somehow because of Elias?” Martin questions carefully.

“If the majority of the Lukas family is within the Lonely there should still be someone else affiliated to the Lonely outside of the family. There is also the chance that Peter Lukas will not be in the Lonely’s domain.”

“So, that just leaves a plan then,” Brian says crossing his arms over his chest with a faint hiss of hydraulics.

“I propose we go at…”

Tim’s words trail off suddenly fuzzy, all the sound in the room gets fuzzy, distant and they shiver suddenly trapped in the sound of their own mind. They can hear it again, those words, whispering at the edges of their mind, humming in their mouth, tangible like cicada in the summer.

Raphaellea’s hand settles warm on their shoulder jolting them back to the moment and they suck in a quick rush of air as sound returns to normal. The others are debating about something, but Jon can tell Sasha’s noticed as they glance up to Raphaellea.

“Thanks.”

“Your eyes were beginning to change colours rapidly,” Raphaellea states in a low voice. Lyfrassir nods and returns their attention to the discussion.

Nastya is saying, “It makes no difference whether we sneak in or go through the front door, we just need to make sure we find one Lukas.”

Brian sighs and says, “In this case, I think discretion will serve us better. The avatars of the Lonely can literally enter a separate plane.”

“Then its decided,” Sasha says glancing at Jon once more before she continues, “We’ll sneak in during early in the morning when more family members are likely to be at home, we find one and deal with the Lonely.”

Everyone nods, it’s a pretty rough plan but well, most plans never survive first contact anyways.

“Is there anything else we should know?” Sasha asks directing the question mostly at Lyfrassir.

They exhale slowly and nod, “I – it’s probably best not to leave me alone for the foreseeable future, especially in the aftermath of dealing with an entity.”

“What are we supposed to do if it uh happens?” Tim asks crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Whatever you can to stop me,” Lyf shrugs before adding, “It’s likely Elias already knows what’s happened, be overly cautious around him.”

“You think he knows?” Brian asks with a frown pulling at the shape of his face.

“I’m almost certain, the only question is to whether he’ll wait till the other entities are dealt with or do it now,” Jon replies quietly, they give in to the temptation to scrub their hand over their face again.

“Great,” Tim says summarising the situation perfectly.

The Lukas mansion is aptly, huge, it sprawls across a barren plot of land with only a scarce shrub to break the monotony of the rolling hills and the shrouded mists. It is an empty sort of place, stone statues pose in solitary areas, often shrouded by the house itself and overgrown with ivy, and the architecture of the house itself is distant and minimalistic to the point of emptiness. The very air feels unfriendly, a brisk, shoving sort of wind and chill.

Jon sucks in a harsh breath and tucks their jacket tighter around their shoulders as they follow Nastya, who is creeping along the side of the house. They glance over their shoulder to where Raphaellea is speaking quietly to Sasha. They can see Tim warily eyeing the Toy Soldier, and Martin outright glaring; Brian had opted to stay with their ride for obvious reasons (by that logic Lyfrassir should also be waiting with Brian, but well needs must).

Nastya taps her wrist and with a tiny hiss the blueprints to the mansion appear in blue before her, glancing off her glasses and onto the dead grass below. She studies it with narrow eyes before turning to the group, “There’s a side door up ahead. It will lead into what would be the servant’s quarters, of course there are no servants. Raphaellea, Lyf, and Sasha take the east wing. Martin and the Toy Soldier you take the west wing, Tim and I will take the North wing. If all goes well meet back here, if it doesn’t, get out and meet Brian at the retrieval point.”

They all nod, silently sharing glances with each other, there’s something tentatively hopeful to the air threatening to crumble under the weight of what could happen if anything goes wrong. Lyf sucks in a breath and forces the words into the deepest recesses of their mind, it won’t happen; it can’t.

They sidle forward, trying to avoid whoever might be looking; for all their wealth there is a startling lack of cameras around the Lukas estate. Perhaps on second thought, in the age of surveillance in which the Eye dominates it makes perfect sense.

The side door is hardly noticeable, blending in with the slate grey siding of the house, the doorknob is a dull silver. Nastya glances over her shoulder and with a nod reaches forward and wraps her gloved hand around the knob, it squeaks, a horrible rusty sort of sound when she attempts to turn it. They all freeze glancing at Nastya who frowns and finishes turning it the last few inches.

No one comes.

The door hinges open with a squeal, yet more evidence to its lack of use, onto a long corridor with pale blue walls that remind Jon faintly of the sky stretching out endlessly above them. They step inside one by one, Lyf’s hand is tight around one of their guns and they can see Tim tucking an axe close to his chest, Sasha has apparently even acquired a gun from somewhere; likely Ashes.

“Be careful Jon,” Martin says quietly as he glances at the Toy Soldier, who is cheerfully waiting, with a pinched smile.

Lyfrassir glances to Sasha and Raphaellea and nods, “I will be.”

Nastya nods once and with a tilt of her head Tim follows her down one of the seemingly endless hallways. Martin with an unsubtle look of resignation starts walking off in another direction, the Toy Soldier’s cheerful expression drops for just a moment before with a wave it follows after Martin.

“Come on, I want to spend as little time here as possible,” Sasha says rubbing her hands over her arms. It is cold in the house, colder than outside.

Raphaellea’s wings are wrapped tight around her body and her breath is a misty cloud in front of her but she’s still smiling as she glances over her shoulder at Lyf and asks, “Aren’t you curious about how the Lonely correlates to the drop in temperature or its association with mists?”

Lyfrassir shrugs as they start moving down the hallway, their feet are muffled and make barely a sound of all.

It’s so quiet.

“I’m always curious,” Lyfrassir finally replies with a frown touching their voice as they pause. Up ahead, the hallway ends branching off into the main part of the house and whatever safety they might have had will soon be stripped away.

Raphaellea’s wings flare out on either side of her body as one of her hands wraps around her guns, Sasha is holding her own gun and glancing every few seconds at Lyfrassir as if to make sure they’re still there.

They just have to find someone affiliated with the Lonely, Lyf will banish the entity, then they leave.

It should be easy.

They have to believe it will be.

The three of them enter the main wing of the Lukas’ mansion, it is impeccably modern, all sleek cutting edges and sterile white, cold tiles, and nothing living, not a fruit fly or another person. Lyfrassir shivers and glances at Sasha and Raphaellea with a pinched expression.

There are footsteps behind them.

Lyfrassir whirls around only to see the same empty hallway they had come from. There is nothing.

They sigh, perhaps their mind is playing tricks on them, they turn.

Raphaellea and Sasha are gone.

Lyfrassir is alone.

They suck in a harsh breath and then forcefully even it out. They can’t let the panic swallow them; they need to complete their task they can worry about finding Raphaellea and Sasha later.

If it comes to that…

They’ll do what they must.

Swallowing down the bitter taste of fear, Lyfrassir squares their shoulders, their fingers tangling around their gun, they walk forward. The mists tangle at their feet, they whisper of the Lonely, wouldn’t it be better? Safer?

Lyfrassir does not listen.

Instead, they hear those footsteps again, the click of a heel on the tile as they step into a large room with only uncomfortable plastic chairs and empty walls. There is a woman standing in front of one of those windows.

Her hair is pure white and the pencil skirt and blouse she wears are both a pale grey when she turns to face Lyfrassir, they can see her eyes are a shade of pale grey. She is young, though it would be easy to mistake otherwise and she smiles pleasantly at Jon.

“I suppose you’re here for the Lonely then?” The woman asks, her voice is low, like the rushing of the sea onto the shore. Lyfrassir nods and quietly switches off the safety. The woman nods with a sigh, one hand curling through her hair, “I married into this family you know? I can’t say I’ve regretted it, then again I think I’m sick of this place.”

The woman pauses her cool eyes settling on Lyfrassir.

“Have you ever been trapped in a place? Not physically trapped, just the simple detritus of life, nowhere else to go, nowhere else to turn to. A degree that might be all but useless but the only thing you can find a job for and you hate it. Friends you aren’t close with but there are no other options, nowhere else to go,” The woman studies Lyfrassir before she shakes her head, “Go on then.”

“Are you sure?” Lyfrassir asks quietly, unsure if this is some sort of trap or a strange form of suicide.

The woman nods, “You won’t find any of the others. Cowards the lot of them. I think I’m ready for this all to be over with.”

Lyfrassir nods with a grim expression and steps further into the room, the door clicks shut behind them as they pause in front of the woman, she tilts her head and asks, “Will it hurt?”

“For a moment yes,” Lyfrassir replies, in this wanting to be truthful.

The woman just nods and holds out her hand, there is something almost but not quite sad to her expression. Inhaling, Lyfrassir seals their teeth together and draws on the Bifrost, the colours dance beneath their skin and drip onto the floor mixing with the mists which drift there listlessly.

They reach out and their hand laces with hers, they pull forth that which is the Lonely, the emptiness, isolation, it is impersonal faces and impersonal words, the slow widening distance between two people, it is salty tears, photos of families in place of the real thing, it is the fog and the mists, rows of empty houses stretching endlessly on, a full city empty of people, empty people.

The Lonely is cold, a pale white like snow which bleaches their skin to a dull grey, they glance into the woman’s eyes, she is smiling and nods once as with a long exhale they clench their fist banishing the Lonely.

The woman’s face seizes with shock for a moment before she spills into the mists at their feet which then disperses.

They slide to the ground tucking their knees to their chest, the Lonely may be gone, but the silence remains.

It is _so_ quiet.

Too quiet.

They begin to hear it again.

Humming there at the back of their mind, they close their eyes and they can see Odin, the All mother stares at them, she will not stop staring. The words are growing louder, the colours of the Bifrost seep into their vision, it presses behind their teeth, aching to get out, to be said.

They open their mouth, perhaps to draw breath, to cry for help.

But they know it will be those words that trip from their lips.

The door slams open, shatteringly loud, they cannot open their eyes, cannot see past the Bifrost, the words are loud, too loud. Hands settle warm on their arms, there are words but they cannot hear them above the Bifrost.

Someone presses a kiss to their cheek, the breath is warm against their cheek as they whisper, “Lyfrassir, come back to us. Listen to my voice.”

“Raphaellea,” The name trickles from their lips and they repeat it again and again till it's all they know as her wings fold around them, warm, almost burning.

Lyfrassir blinks and forces their eyes open, the only sound they can hear is the beat of Raphaellea’s heart in her chest, she is staring down at them, her wings folded around them, her hair trailing over their shoulders, there are tears in her eyes but she is smiling. Sasha is leaning against the doorway watching them with a nervous smile.

“Let’s go home,” Lyf says quietly taking Raphaellea’s hand and letting her pull them to their feet.

She nods leaning her head against theirs, humming something familiar under her breath as they walk forward together.

“Elias,” Jon greets as they step into the Archives, the others are filing in slowly behind them, Tim, Sasha, and Martin, have left to go home early, at Jon’s behest, which leaves the TS, Raphaellea, Nastya, and Brian.

Lyfrassir can see Ivy sitting at Sasha’s desk with what might be a spreadsheet, she glances up briefly and smiles at Lyf before returning to her work. Elias, who had been patiently, or at least the illusion of patience, smiles pushing off from the doorway to Lyf’s office, he walks forward.

“Was your expedition informative Jon?” Elias asks with a pleasant smile, he is in Jon’s place of power, and they both know it.

“I think so, I learned a lot,” Lyfrassir replies with a pleasant smile, aware of Brian hovering in the background tapping his metal foot with a _clang, clang, clang_ against the linoleum floors.

Elias’ smile is strained as his eyes flicker to Brian and then to Nastya who is gleefully tinkering with the climate controls once more, there are sparks flying quite literally before he continues, “I would appreciate it if I could see you in my office when you’re available Jon. It is… quieter.”

“I’ll see if I can find any availability, my schedule is quite full these days,” Jon replies with a pleasant smile, they are still shivering from the Lukas mansion and all they want is to fall into bed with their crew.

Elias nods, his expression is blank but beneath it, Jon can see something unsettling, not perhaps victory, but something close to it as they ask, “Have you had any luck finding what you needed Elias?”

“I do believe I have,” Elias replies with a smile that is rather satisfied as he steps past Jon and hovers in the doorway, “Have a goodnight, Jon.”

Then the Archive doors slip shut behind him.

Lyfrassir lets out a long sigh and runs a hand through their braids, a warm hand settles on their shoulder and they glance over it at Brian with a tiny smile. Brian grins back and tugs them into a hug, he’s running hot today and Lyfrassir lets out another tiny contented sigh and murmurs, “I’ll be so glad when I never have to see his face again.”

“We’re almost done,” Nastya adds patting them on the shoulder before joining in on the hug.

Raphaellea flutters over and adds, “Then we can all go on vacation.”

“I love vacations!” The Toy Soldier adds joining the hug, it's hard and made of solid wood but there’s still something nice about its hugs, maybe just the smell of wood polish and faintly lemon.

Ivy groans but pushes back from the desk and plods over to join the hug. Lyfrassir smiles and exhales, this is home.

It is late, or perhaps early, they should have left the Archives hours ago; normally, they would have. Normally, Sasha, or Tim, or Martin would drag them off for drinks or even just to go on a walk and before they could think about it, they would be home. Normally, a member of their crew would linger, Ashes would sit on their couch and bitch at them until they left, or the Toy Soldier would begin to ramble about tea with pleading eyes, or Marius would sit on their desk until they would be forced to leave.

But the assistants all left early to do one thing or another together, and the Mechs have a show tonight. Normally, they would go, they try to go to every show if they’re able, but tonight it’s the Bifrost Incident and they just can’t chance it.

So, they’re alone in their office and the hours have slipped away between reading statements, searching for ones on Hilltop road, and trying in vain to organize a few things. Lyfrassir sighs knowing they’re likely going to get yelled at when they finally return to their apartment and scrubs a hand over their face idly eyeing their, by now, cold and no doubt unpalatable tea.

Their eyes stray to the stack of books resting beside the mug. It’s the Leitners Sasha found in Artefact storage, the pile is a few books shorter than it was before the Lonely was banished, but it was always a rather small stack. Lyfrassir can see a few thick tombs which look more like paperweights than actual books, a few thin ones like magazines, and some that just look like regular books.

Tilting their head, they study the pile for a long moment before they reach out to take the book off the top.

Before the can even wrap their fingers around the spine there is a knock at their office door. Lyfrassir tilts their head wondering who is in the Archives at such a late hour, perhaps one of the Mechs? They don’t normally knock.

“Come in,” Lyfrassir calls out, one hand reaching towards the desk drawer with their guns in it.

The door to their office swings open and a man steps inside, he has dark skin and dreads and is wearing a casual outfit that wouldn’t look out of place on the streets but there is something unsettling about him nonetheless. The man’s eyes flicker over Jon’s office before settling on them.

“Good morning, I suppose,” The man begins shutting the door behind him and settling in the chair across from Jon’s, his skin up close is almost grey toned and his eyes are dark, “I’m Oliver Banks.”

“Jon Sims, it’s nice to finally meet you,” Jon replies hesitantly and doesn’t offer their hand, warily studying Oliver.

Oliver nods with a tiny smile, his eyes flickering around Jon’s office and landing on the pile of books for a second before he says, “I wasn’t sure if I was going to come here.”

“What made you change your mind?” Jon asks curiously and half cautiously, still wondering why the avatar of the End is before them.

Oliver shrugs, “Probably the Web,” He pauses for a long moment before he sighs, “When – when you’ve dealt with the rest of the entities you will leave?”

“That is the plan, yes, we – I know where my home is,” Lyfrassir replies quietly, staring at Oliver who stares back.

“I’ve felt it, each time an entity was banished,” Oliver admits and with a breathy huff of laughter adds, “Perks of being tied to the End I suppose. You’ve read my statements, haven’t you?”

“Yes. Why are you here Oliver?” Lyfrassir questions gently, they had not yet known how to deal with the End, but having Oliver appear now feels circumspect, suspicious.

Oliver shifts and glances into Lyfrassir’s eyes, his are dark, the dark nothingness of death as he replies, “We both know what I’m here for.”

“But not why.”

“No, I couldn’t really say why I was here either. The End is not like other entities, humans have always been afraid of death, it will happen to all eventually, even to your Mechanisms,” Oliver replies and he doesn’t not say it to be cruel this much Lyfrassir can tell.

“They will die and so will I, but it will not be now, the people of Earth will not die of the Bifrost,” Lyfrassir replies, the words taste like thunder on their tongue, ozone and electricity crackling together.

Oliver watches them silently before he sighs and shakes his head, “Maybe it will be so. I suppose I don’t have to care anymore,” Oliver leans back in the chair head tilted up towards the ceiling, “It’s almost nice not having to care anymore about who will live and who will die. I’ve tried to save them, so many times, so many people, no matter what I do they will die,” Oliver tilts his head back down to face Jon, “Right now, everything, everyone, is going to die, that is what I see.”

“It won’t happen,” Lyfrassir promises, they sigh, “I am sorry about this.”

“So am I,” Oliver replies and his hand stretches across the desk to rest in front of Jon, he smiles, “It will be nice to finally rest.”

Lyfrassir reaches forward and pulls that which is the End, the inevitable drip of time which will claim all, the sudden jarring absence of a person who had a life, connections which spread like roots suddenly absent, the slow decrepit crawl of age, limbs that refuse to work, a brain full of fog. Terminus, Death, that which takes and takes without mercy, indiscriminately, that which is the slow crawl of cancer and illness, the sudden jarring stab of a knife or a gun. It is the last breath, the draining of blood, stillness and a fire or packed earth. The End.

It is like sand or perhaps ashes in their hands, cold and still it does not shift, rests there as still as the stone from which many might return. Lyfrassir glances into Oliver’s eyes the Bifrost humming beneath the skin and they lean forward and breath life.

The End scatters into ash and Oliver with a long exhale does the same.

Lyfrassir stumbles back slamming hard into the wall and clutching their head.

They can hear it.

The Bifrost spills from their skin, dripping onto the floor, filling the air with colours that do not exist.

The doors begin to creak open.

The words battle against their teeth.

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO

It is so close.

If they but open their mouth.

Lyfrassir slams their head back against the wall with a harsh _crack_ , it banishes the words for but a second. But that is all they need, that moment of clarity for them to launch forward and open the desk drawer.

Their fingers wrap around the cold metal of their gun as the first syllable trails from their lips. They metal tastes acrid and is cold on their tongue, they wince their finger hovering on the trigger as their mouth tries to shape the words.

_Bang_

Silence.

Nothing.

_Slap._

“Lyfrassir I swear to god if you do not wake up right now, I will kill you again.”

They jerk to life in between one breath and the next sucking in harsh gasps of air as the bullet falls onto the ground with a little _clink_. They exhale pushing hair out of their eyes and wincing at the blood that coats it.

“You are a fucking idiot,” Marius says, his tone is empty and cold where he hovers over Lyfrassir.

“M’sorry,” They ground out, the words stick heavy in their throat and come out in more of a rasp. They can still taste the words on their tongue and when they glance at the floor, they can see the Bifrost stained there in colours that can’t exist.

Marius exhales through his nose scrubbing a hand over his face and staring at Lyfrassir for a long moment before he says in a quiet broken voice, “We could have lost you. It could have… Lyf please.”

“I’m sorry,” They say again, the words taste bitter on their tongue and they can’t stop the sob escaping them as they lean forward. Marius doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Lyfrassir tucking them to his chest as they cry and murmur, “I just want it to be over. I – I don’t want to be afraid any longer.”

“I know,” Marius whispers one hand stroking through their hair regardless of the blood there, “This will be over soon.”

“Even if this will, these words will linger always, waiting,” Lyfrassir replies resting their head above Marius’ heart. Marius hums one hand rubbing up and down Lyfrassir’s back for a long time.

“We’ll survive, we always do,” Marius finally responds and rises slowly to his feet, tugging Lyfrassir up with him. They glance at the floor, stained with blood and the colours of the Bifrost and turn away, “Come on, the Toy Soldier made cookies.”

They pause, there’s a sheet of paper on their desk. Stumbling forward, they reach out and take it, the handwriting is half-familiar and the words swim up from the pages, Marius tilts his head, “What is it?”

Lyfrassir smiles, “A way to save my assistants.”

They let Marius tug them out of their office, their mind is almost quiet but faintly they can still hear it. Waiting. Watching.

“It looks normal,” Stoker says arms crossed over his chest and leaning back against Sasha’s car to stare at the house.

“No, it looks creepy,” Martin replies with a frown from where he is standing beside the Toy Soldier, whatever happened at the Lukas mansion, they seem to at least be getting along better.

Jon has to agree with Martin, what remains of 105 Hill Top Road seems to loom over the street, the shell of a house abandoned during construction, the wood has rotted, and everywhere spiderwebs linger in the corners. In the back of the house, Jon can just catch a glimpse of the tree mentioned in the statement.

“I think Martin’s right,” Tim says as he idly cleans his gun, his eyes never leave the cobwebs that seem to decorate the house like an all-year Halloween decoration.

“Should we even go inside?” Sasha asks as she flicks through a few copies of the statements about the house before she adds, “We could just as well meet the ghost of Raymond Fielding or Agnes Montague.”

“I’m more worried about Annabelle Cane,” Jon admits as they fix one of their braids, running the locks of hair through their fingers as if it might distract them from what they are going to do.

Everyone is quiet at that.

Finally, Ashes stubs their cigarette into the ground and picks up the can of gasoline perched at their feet, “We might as well go in, no use wasting daylight.”

“Are you sure bringing the gasoline in there is a good idea?” Martin questions hesitantly, staring at Ashes with wide eyes.

“Probably not,” Ashes replies with a shrug, Tim nods hefting a gun of his own.

Exhaling, Jon scrubs their hand over their face and says, “Come on, stay together, don’t split up. Toy Soldier can you wait out here please?”

“Happy to be of service chap!” TS replies with a cheery smile, though Lyf gets the sense its a bit put out on not being included. Jon just nods and walks forward stepping inside the house.

The floorboards creak beneath their feet and spiders scurry into the dark corners through faint beams of light. The others follow almost silently behind Jon but for the protests of the floorboards.

“Is now a good time to mention that I don’t like spiders,” Tim jokes his eyes narrowing on the dark corners of the house where he can no doubt see said spiders; Jon supposes having perfect vision isn’t always a good thing.

Stoker laughs and says, “Probably, but hey who doesn’t have a little arachnophobia.”

“What exactly are we looking for Jon?” Sasha questions glancing at the stairs which lead up to the second floor and look rather unsteady.

Jon hums eyes darting around the building before they respond, “Any evidence of Cane, or the door to the basement. I may have a look at the tree if there’s nothing in the basement.”

“Is the Web going to let you do that?” Martin asks hesitantly, he’s glancing around not quite afraid but certainly uncomfortable.

“Probably not,” Jon admits quietly before walking forward. The basement door is tucked into one wall near the stairs and they _know_ it is all but untouched from the original part of the house.

Hesitating, Jon inhales and rests their hand on the doorknob turning it with a slow screech, it opens onto darkness. The air that drifts from the door is musty and stale and Jon can see only the glint of white cobwebs from the top step.

“Ashes, wait up here, if we’re not up in fifteen minutes you know what to do,” Jon says turning to face them, they frown but nod rubbing their fingers over their dice as they glance around the house.

“And what if we end up in another dimension or universe?” Stoker questions trying to sound nonchalant and almost succeeding.

“I suppose that would be interesting,” Jon replies with a tiny smile they don’t feel as they take the first step before glancing over their shoulder, “But technology in the future is quite advanced, and the narrative probably wouldn’t like that when we’re so close to the end.”

Tim nods at the back of the group as Sasha follows Jon and adds, “From what I’ve learned of ‘narrative flow’ that would be like a filler arc.”

“I can’t believe you all,” Martin says with a groan as Jon continues down the stairs carefully testing each step’s ability to hold their weight. They creak and groan but do not crack and that is all that matters.

It is silent as Jon steps into the basement, and it is dark, they can see nothing until they dig out their phone and turn their flashlight on. It flickers, they were unaware it could do that, before finally stilling.

Sasha gasps behind them as they swing their flashlight around the basement, the walls are absolutely covered in webs, with little black dots like jewels, peeking from amidst the wallpaper; spiders.

Tim, the last of their group lets out a curse as Jon settles the light on the floor where a phone is resting. There is no longer a pit, or a spiderweb box, the floor of the basement is smooth concrete.

A jaunty pop tune from the early 2000s fills the air and the phone lying on the floor begins to vibrate, they all freeze sharing unsure looks before the call slides to answer, without any of them touching it.

“Hello Archivist,” A female voice fills the basement, it is distorted likely because of the reception but beneath that it is full of smug confidence, “So, nice of you to visit. I know you’ve been searching for me.”

“Annabelle Cane,” Jon says the name almost without thought.

“Yes, that’s me,” Annabelle replies with a coy laugh, “You won’t find what you seek here Archivist, you can try that tree, you can try every wall, even this phone. But the Web is not trifled with so easily and the Mother is rather fond of Earth and all its playthings.”

“And what about you Annabelle Cane?” Jon questions, the faintest hint of compulsion crackling beneath their voice.

“I’m not the biggest fan of dying, already done it once,” She replies simply before her tone shifts, “Now off you go Archivist, the Eye watches and the Mother is very curious to see how this all turns out.”

Before Jon can respond the call ends with a click.

For a split second there is silence before Stoker sighs and says, “Well, that was helpful.”

“We at least know the Web is involved,” Sasha says with a sigh before adding, “Which isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“Uh guys,” Martin begins, hesitantly, Jon glances to him he is pale and shining his phone at one of the walls, “The spiders are moving.”

And they are, falling from the webs and landing on the ground they are beginning to crawl across the floor, near blanketing it in black.

“Leave, now!” Jon commands as Tim digs out the flamethrower Ashes lent him and sends a gout spewing across the floor. The assistants scramble up the stairs which shriek and scream at the thundering of their shoes.

Once they are halfway up the stairs and the spiders have retreated somewhat, Jon tugs Tim up the stairs and doesn’t glance back, they don’t need to. They _know_ the spiders are following.

The light of the main floor is almost a relief as Tim slams the door shut behind them and they pause gasping for breath and glancing to their assistants who are pale, eyes wide with fear. Jon glances to Ashes and between gasps for air says, “Burn it.”

They nod once and retreat only to return a moment later with the cans of gasoline, they hand one to Tim. The two move about the house quickly dousing it in gasoline, Tim pauses to throw a whole can down into the basement before slamming the door shut.

Jon meanwhile, pulls their assistants out of the house and to where the Toy Soldier is waiting under a tree and attempting to make a flower crown. It smiles when it notices them approaching.

“That was terrifying,” Stoker finally says leaning against Sasha’s car.

“Quite,” Jon agrees glancing to Martin who is resolutely scrolling through his phone, and then to Sasha who is twisting a lock of hair around her finger. In the noonday sun, the fear doesn’t seem quite so pervasive and they can rest for a moment.

Tim and Ashes exit the house a few seconds later, Tim with a grimace and Ashes with a smile as they flick their lighter. They catch Jon’s eyes and with a nod flick the lighter over their shoulder and into the house.

It catches instantly.

Even supernatural forces are only so much of a match for Ashes O’Reilly.

“We should probably leave now,” Jon says and for a long moment they all watch the house catch before Sasha sighs and nods walking around and getting in the driver’s seat. Distantly, they can already hear the sirens.

The drive home is quiet, like they’re a bunch of teenagers who just committed a crime and got away with it until Sasha finally reaches over and turns on the radio.

The Institute is quiet after work hours and as they traipse through the main hallway, Jon can feel Elias watching him, it is not said, but they both know what Elias wants. Jon ignores it and takes the elevator down to the Archives leaning against Tim with their head on Ashes’ shoulder.

Ivy is in the Archives, buried amongst the shelves once more, along with Jonny and Nastya who are arguing about one thing or another. That argument has apparently devolved into Jonny trying to wrestle Nastya who is threatening to shoot him, again.

The two of them pause and perk up upon their entrance before Nastya frowns and says, “You were not successful.”

Tim laughs, “Nope but there were a lot of spiders!”

Jon rolls their eyes and turns to their assistants, they catch Martin’s eyes and with a smile add, “You all go home. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Sasha looks like she might protest before Stoker loops his arms through hers and Martin’s and with a grin says, “Thanks boss, we’re going to go fumigate our place and then not watch any movies with giant spiders tonight.”

“So, no Lord of the Rings, and of course no Harry Potter,” Martin adds with a roll of his eyes and a little pinch to his face that appears whenever that series is mentioned, Jon sympathises.

“Get home safe,” Jon says watching as their assistants trickle out of the Archives, Stoker over exuberantly talking about a certain kayaking incident.

When they are gone, Jon sighs and turns to Tim who ruffles their hair and tucks them into a hug. Smiling, Lyfrassir wraps their arms around Tim for a moment, inhaling the faint scent of gunpowder and steel before they pull back.

“I’m going to pack up for the day then we can go home,” Lyf says running a hand through their hair and making their way to the office, muffling a yawn as they go.

The door shuts behind them with a click and to the sound of Nastya and Jonny resuming their argument with Ashes interjecting every so often egging them both on. Settling at their desk they shove aside a few forms about new filing cabinets or equally bland things when their eyes settle on the pile of Leitners once more.

Tilting their head, they pause hearing a loud _crash_ , it’s probably fine, they pull the stack closer.

The first book on the top is a magazine with a woman whose eyes seem to follow Jon no matter which way they tilt the magazine. No doubt each page inside similarly watches them.

The second book is also of the Eye, though this one is thick and seemingly old with a title that simply reads, _1984_ _and Other titles_ which no doubt are associated with surveillance and the fear of being watched.

There’s another yet louder crash and even the scent of burning.

The final book in the, now tiny, pile is a thin book, maybe seven or eight pages, shaped like a children’s book with a title that reads, _A Visit for Mr. Spider_.

There is no doubt as to the affiliation of this book. Tilting their head, they reach out and wrap their fingers around the book drawing it closer, they are tempted to open it, to peer at what lies beneath when they remember the aftermath of dealing with the End.

Rising hesitantly to their feet they think _I should read the book._

Lyfrassir thinks, _I should sit down and read the book._

_I should not show it to the others._

_Everything will be fine._

They hover one hand placed on the book and they stare at it where thin strands that gleam a pale white wrap around their fingers. The words whisper and coax inside of their mine, asking them to sit and read the book. What harm could it do after all?

Inhaling they pluck the book up and step out of their office.

Ashes is watching a garbage bin which is spewing flames with a bored expression and Ivy has apparently forcibly separated Nastya and Jonny after they threatened to disrupt her work to many times. Tim just waves where he is sitting beside a sullen Jonny.

“What have you got there Lyfrassir?” Tim questions leaning back with a smug sort of expression; children the lot of them.

“A book connected to the Web I – I’m going to… read it? No. No, I’m going to try to – to destroy it?” Lyfrassir finishes uncertainly glancing from the book to the others before back again at the book.

“Destroy it, you want to destroy it,” Jonny says firmly, he is still now and staring at the book with a dangerous glint to his eyes. Lyfrassir isn’t certain if that’s correct but they trust Jonny to tell them what’s right.

They nod and set the book on Martin’s desk. With a long exhale they pull forth the Bifrost, it shines onto the floor and from their skin as they reach and pull.

The Web is smart, it skitters away, it pretends the connection is not enough, this is just a book, it is not tied to the Mother.

But it is.

It feasted recently.

So childish and simple Mr. Spider is, but he is of the Web nonetheless.

Lyfrassir pulls that which is the Spider, the Web, the sense of loss of control, choices spiralling away before your eyes, a dance where your limbs move without your consent, it is the sweet sting of a needle, the loss of focus, the haze of a drug. Politicians who dance to invisible strings, history folding in on itself all to lead to certain moments. A chessboard with veiled players.

The Web in their hands is swathes of spiderweb which dangle gracefully from their fingers, it seems to whisper _Don’t destroy me. We could be great. Aren’t I beautiful?_

With a ragged gasp they clench their fist and the Web crumples into nothing, _A Visit for Mr. Spider_ shrivels up, the pages crinkling in on themselves until they too are nothing. The Web is gone and all over the world, certain people stagger and still suddenly able to _choose_.

Lyfrassir stumbles back one hand struggling to clasp over their mouth as the words begin to make themselves known. A warm form appears behind them, one hand reaching up to cover their mouth as Ashes says, “I’ve got you Lyfrassir.”

They are unable to trust their voice as their tears splash onto the floor in a multitude of colours.

Jonny appears in front of them, Nastya hovering behind him as he reaches out settling hands on either side of Lyfrassir’s face and with a half-smile says, “Did we ever tell you about the incident with the Marquis de all the Knives?”

Lyfrassir shakes their head, they can taste blood on their tongue and the world slips between fuzzy and too sharp, Jonny’s expression is pinched as he nods, “Well I must preface this to say it was mostly Tim’s fault-,”

“Oi!”

“It’s true. In any case, some three hundred-odd years in the future…”

Jonny talks and talks his voice filling up Lyfrassir’s head with the occasional interjections from the other members of the crew until they can at last open their mouth without fear, slumping back into Ashes who folds them into a hug.

“You’re okay?” Ivy asks appearing around Jonny and reaching forward to tangle her hand with theirs.

“For now,” Lyfrassir says quietly, “We’re almost at the end.”

The others stare back in grim understanding.

They push together a few folding chairs and Stoker through one means or another procures enough chairs for everyone to sit somewhat comfortably at the table. It is similar to the aftermath of their rescue and it makes Lyfrassir long for it somewhere deep in their chest.

Instead, they take a long sip of the Toy Soldier’s tea and lean against Brian, who is arguably not the best to snuggle with, but is nice and warm. Brian is often full of the sound of creaking metal, the gears and motions of his body churning away beneath his skin and it calms Lyfrassir and distracts them from the ever-present hum; they have not slept well of late.

Martin, Stoker, and Sasha are settled together nearby talking quietly amongst themselves and pretending not to eye Lyfrassir with clear worry and failing. The other Mechs are scattered around the table, Jonny and Tim are bickering, Ivy, Raphaellea, and Marius are discussing something and also not glancing at Lyfrassir, Ashes and Nastya are sharing a smoke while the Toy Soldier cheerily delivers refreshments.

Frowning, Lyfrassir pushes away from Brian scrubbing a hand over their face before they cough loudly to get everyone’s attention. Instantly, it is silent and they can feel the weight of their eyes upon him.

Inhaling, Lyfrassir straightens their shoulders, they once detained a man who was six feet taller than them, they have dealt with the Mechanisms for countless years, they can do this.

“Currently, thirteen of the fourteen entities have been banished which leaves only the Eye,” They begin pausing for a moment to make sure that everyone is on the right page, “Elias is currently our best lead on how to deal with the Eye.”

“Except for the whole nefarious plotting – thing,” Jonny says with a frown poking at a cookie.

“Except for that, he hasn’t acted yet which only leads me to believe that for some reason he wanted the Eye to be the last entity left,” Lyfrassir continues and pauses unsure how to continue.

It’s Sasha who speaks next, twisting a lock of hair around her finger she asks, “And what about us?”

“I – there is a way to server your connection from the Eye long enough for you all to survive,” Jon explains glancing to Raphaellea who beams, her wings shifting.

“If we were to place you on our starship, Aurora, and either travel to a time or place where the Eye cannot reach then your connection would be severed and you would be safe while Lyfrassir dealt with the Eye. However, there would likely be some consequences upon returning,” Raphaellea explains carefully, her hands waving through the air as she speaks.

“Consequences?” Martin asks raising one brow, his eyes catching Jon’s.

“Perhaps withdrawal, or it could be you might feel unwell, your connection isn’t too strong so I wouldn’t be overly concerned,” Raphaellea responds, and though she tries Jon can tell it isn’t too reassuring. It will have to be enough.

They’re still a bit annoyed that the answer was in front of them the whole time.

“What if Elias wants you to do it,” Nastya questions as she carefully stirs sugar into her tea.

“It’s highly possible,” Jon replies with a sigh, “In fact, he probably does want it to happen. But there are few other options available.”

“Does he want you to uh say it… the uh chant?” Stoker questions with a frown slouching back in his chair.

“It’s likely, that’s why three of you will be nearby to… deal with it if that happens,” Lyfrassir responds catching Marius’ eyes and thinking of their conversation the night before; if it comes to that, but it won’t come to that.

“And the rest of us?” Ashes asks carefully picking at their nails with a knife.

“I want the rest of you to be on the Aurora,” Lyfrassir says quietly before tilting their chin up to stare at their crew.

“You can’t be serious,” Nastya says her eyes wide.

Beside her Jonny is frowning, “Lyfrassir.”

“Ivy, Raphaellea, and Marius were the ones closest to the Bifrost, if we can’t stop it… the narrative must go on,” Lyfrassir responds glancing to Ivy, Marius, and Raphaellea, who nods, before they add, “Not even the Mechanisms would survive this.”

They all glance to Jonny, who as much as they all might insist otherwise, _is_ their Captain. He frowns pulling at his beard for a long moment as he glances into Lyfrassir’s eyes before he nods once sharply, “Okay Lyfrassir.”

They exhale slowly leaning against Brian who hums something sad as his fingers trail through Lyfrassir’s hair which they’ve left unbound.

“When is this happening?” Brian asks loud enough for the other to hear.

“Three days from now,” They reply with certainty.

The others nod and though no one says anything they all know the important part of the meeting is finished, all that is left now are the details. Jonny turns to their assistants and asks, “Will you be ready to leave by then?”

They share glances, Martin stares for one long second at Lyfrassir before he nods with Sasha and Tim. Jonny nods and turns to the Toy Soldier, who grins as it pretends to sip at tea and eat a cookie.

“TS, Nastya can you make sure the Aurora is ready for departure,” Jonny’s eyes flicker to Lyfrassir, “For three days from now.”

They both nod and Ivy with a sigh, pushes away from the table, “I suppose I better upload everything,” she glances longingly at the Archives before disappearing between the shelves once more.

Nastya rises to her feet and glances to Brian who nods and with a final curl of his fingers through Lyfrassir’s hair he rises to his feet and follows Nastya. Yawning, Jon frowns and glances to Martin tilting his head to the side, Martin with a curious expression follows.

“Are you okay with – everything?” Jon asks quietly leaning against the wall and staring over Martin’s shoulder at their crew before forcing their eyes to flicker back to Martin who shrugs.

“It’s kind of a bad situation all around, but it could be worse I suppose,” Martin finally replies with a quiet sigh staring into Lyfrassir’s eyes.

“Martin I…” Jon trails off unsure how to continue, Martin’s eyes widen for a moment and they force themself to continue, “After this, if everything turns out well, we won’t be staying so I just wanted to let you uh know…”

Understanding dawns on Martin’s expression and he smiles small and warm, “I – thank you, Jon, honestly, but I uh, I’m actually pretty happy now,” he glances over his shoulder to Sasha and Tim, “Sasha’s Aro, and Tim and I just click, we uh all work together really well. Kind of took a bit of inspiration from you all if we’re being honest.”

A grin spreads across Jon’s face and they’re honestly happy as they say, “That’s awesome Martin!”

He blushes but nods, “Thanks Jon. I really hope everything will work out.”

They glance at their crew, laughing and talking with each other, their assistants chatting quietly, “Me too.”  
  


Lyfrassir didn’t _know_ the tunnels underneath the Institute connected to the subway and yet they find they cannot be surprised. It was always going to lead back to this, to the train.

It is an abandoned station, similar perhaps to a statement they once read but the Buried has long since fled, and all that is left is empty tracks and dust. Two exits lead off into the darkness separating concrete platforms, where they lead, Lyfrassir can only guess.

Inhaling, Lyfrassir glances around the tunnels one hand creeping to hover over the knife Nastya had pressed into their hands before they left. They’re gone now, safe on the Aurora along with their assistants and it sets something at ease in their chest.

It is quiet, not even the scurrying of a rat to disturb the thick bed of silence and it makes the sound of footsteps all the louder when they finally appear.

Lyfrassir doesn’t move, just watches quietly as the stone at the other side of the platform crumbles away revealing Elias, there is no Leitner in his hands, but instead, a circular object which crumbles to dust. Elias glances at the dust in his hand with a raised brow before he shakes it off with a casual shrug.

“Hello Jon,” Elias begins, his voice bounces around the tunnel as he smiles at Lyfrassir, his eyes seem to glow in the darkness.

“Magnus,” Lyfrassir responds shifting slightly, it is cold down here and though the Lonely is gone they feel so very alone.

“I suppose its finally come to this hasn’t it,” Elias begins swinging his arms out around him, “It was a pleasure to watch your progress, Jon, how you dealt with each entity. I must say I was quite surprised by the Web, I didn't think it would let itself be destroyed, perhaps it wanted this as well.”

Lyfrassir says nothing, staring silently at Elias, watching him.

Elias sighs, it’s a very put-upon sigh and shakes his head, “It was always going to come to this Jon. But, together, we could create a new world, one of fear, endless terror, we would be the gods of a ruined world.”

“You don’t understand,” Lyfrassir says quietly, it is so very still and they itch to do something as they continue, “Whatever its promised you, it’s a lie They will bring nothing but destruction.”

“It will be glorious destruction,” Elias responds, he walks forward to the edge of the platform, and continues, “There will be no death, only fear.”

“There will be no life. This is not some apocalyptic wasteland, it will be the end of everything, this whole galaxy swallowed up as nothing but an appetizer for these beings. They will spread, like a virus as they have spread through me,” Lyfrassir responds, emotion heating their voice and clenching their fists as they grit their teeth.

They can hear it near constantly now, like an incessant drum, beating through the back of their mind.

“This cannot end any other way Jon, I will not kill you and you must deal with the Eye, there is no other way,” Elias responds and takes a step over thin air, he does not plummet and Lyfrassir knows not what force it is that suspends him but can guess all the same.

They swallow, “I will banish the Eye but I will not say it.”

Elias laughs and takes another step forward, Lyfrassir unconsciously takes one back, “You do not seriously believe that Jon. Haven’t you noticed? Even if you’ve prevented it in that moment, the door has slowly been opened, in banishing the entities you have only increased Yog Sothoth’s power. You cannot save this world.”

“I will,” Lyfrassir says as Elias takes the last step standing across from them.

“You don’t have a choice Jon,” Elias says and then he launches forward attempting to tackle Lyfrassir.

They duck to the left as the ground begins to rumble lightly beneath their feet. Elias grins as Lyfrassir unsheathes their knife and pulls out their gun, he pulls out a gun of his own and aims.

_Bang_

The bullet bites into their thigh, they ignore the white-hot pain and dodge out of the way as Elias fires once more. The very air is heavy, pressing down on their shoulders and slowing their movements and all they can hear is the words.

Again, and again.

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO

Elias slams them into the wall, and they distantly hear a _crack_ amidst the torrent of words.

He leans close, his breath fanning hot over Lyfrassir’s face as they struggle, attempting to knee the man, or drive their elbow upwards but he is like solid stone and the metal of his knife bites into the vulnerable skin of their throat.

They can taste blood on their tongue and distantly they can see the colours of the Bifrost beginning to fill the air, they leap from the darkness of the tunnel in the form of a train that is all too familiar.

“Do it,” Magnus commands the metal of the blade biting and drawing blood.

Lyfrassir shakes their head, grinding their teeth together their fingers scrabble uselessly against the wall behind them. They drop to their pockets and pull out one of Ashes’ lighters.

They flick it at Magnus and he staggers back with a scowl brushing off the flames as he leans close to the edge.

_Bang_

The gun fires again tearing into Lyfrassir’s chest as the other bullet drops from their leg with a clink. They suck in a harsh breath at the white-hot pain pushing down the words which bubble and froths on their tongue.

Inhaling roughly, Lyfrassir watches Magnus for a long moment.

They step forward, the Bifrost drips from their skin, humming beneath their veins, chanting in their mind as they reach forth into Jonah Magnus’ chest.

They pull forth the Eye, that which Sees and Knows, it is Eyes in dark alleyways always, always watching, it is the curiosity about what is in the dark, what makes the world go round, it all the knowledge that is horrid and true that one cannot look away from. It is flinching and yet looking more, it is questions pulled without consent, it is always Watching and Watching.

The Eye is just that, an Eye, it roves in Lyfrassir’s palm, tendrils that could be words stretching between Jonah and Lyfrassir. They glance up into Magnus’ face, he is smiling, a smile that stretches and stretches endlessly on as tears pour from his face that of which are colours that should not and have never existed.

Magnus laughs, it is a triumphant laugh as Lyfrassir crushes the Eye.

There is a sharp tearing feeling somewhere deep inside their chest as they stumble back.

The ground which had begun to shake ferociously starts to crack, the train that is the Key and the Gate, crushes through the station, empty disjointed compartments and for a single moment they see a familiar face crying.

Jonah Magnus falls dead, his body old and decrepit, unrecognisable, unknown.

Lyfrassir opens their mouth, perhaps to scream, but all that comes out is, “Y’AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH-“

Again, and again.

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO

Y'AI 'NG'NGAH, YOG-SOTHOTH H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH

OGTHROD AI'F GEB'L-EE'H YOG-SOTHOTH 'NGAH'NG AI'Y ZHRO

They collapse to their knees clawing at their face, at their throat and mouth, the doors are being flung open and the screaming squamous things from beyond the Bifrost do not hesitate to trickle forward tearing apart a sane reality.

Tears trickle down their cheeks and blood down their chin as they try to silence themselves, but it is no use.

The words continue, “H'EE-L'GEB F'AI THRODOG UAAAH.”

That is when the footsteps appear, they are hardly audible above the screaming of a reality beginning to rent itself in two, but Lyfrassir through their tears can see them. They pause in horror on the threshold of the tunnel as the train crashes and screeches upon the rails, the squamous things dripping from its windows and doors before they rush towards them.

“Lyfrassir, fuck!” Marius says with a shake of his head, or perhaps he says nothing at all, as their very bodies begin to melt away under the touch of the Bifrost. But their Mechanisms work yet.

Ivy pins down their arms and Raphaellea with a heavy-set frown holds their jaw shut as Marius holds up a scalpel. It bends as if seen underwater and Lyfrassir forces themselves to watch as the blade is lowered to rest against their neck, mirroring Magnus’ actions only moments earlier.

“I’m sorry Lyfrassir,” Marius says, and slits their throat.

It is a nice day out.

The breeze is cool against their skin, the sun shines pleasantly, and the grass of the park is the right shade of green. They shift and lean their head against Marius’ shoulder watching as Jonny and Tim squabble over their setlist and where they’re flying next; of which Brian and Nastya have already decided. Nastya is sitting with Ivy and Raphaellea under a tree, carefully braiding Raphaellea’s long golden hair in the manner they showed her.

They can see the Toy Soldier watching a few ducks with interest even as Ashes stands bored beside them. Brian is talking to someone, likely trying to offer them help or advice of some kind.

“Are you ready to go home?” Marius asks quietly, one hand running through their hair and then down their spine.

Lyfrassir’s fingers hover over the rough scar on their throat for a long moment before they nod and make a low humming sound.

“We could look at getting rid of the scar, the technology is there,” Marius says quietly, his voice is tight and pinched, the way it always gets now when they talk about _it_.

Lyf shakes their head untangling one of their fingers to slowly spell out, “No. It’s a reminder.”

“Lyfrassir,” Marius says their name so carefully as if it is worth more than the letters that make it, as if Marius cannot grasp the whole of them, “You shouldn’t have to be reminded of it. It’s okay… we’ve stopped it, you won’t have to worry about it again.”

They smile and shake their head patting one of Marius’ hands, for all of his almost degrees, just like the others, they tend to be blind about things they don’t want to acknowledge. Lyfrassir will always carry the Bifrost within them, only now it is trapped there.

They will still wake up with a scream on their tongue, only now the words will not escape no matter how hard they might wish to. They will always be a vessel, but no longer will they be able to summon it through words alone.

They exhale slowly, feel the air on their lips and sign, “The effects linger here.”

Marius frowns and though the world around them looks normal, the grass is green, the sky blue, and the sun yellow, the Bifrost for however brief a time touched Earth and that sort of thing leaves a mark.

“They’ll be okay, these humans are a resilient bunch,” Marius says finally, he rubs his thumb gently over their hand before he continues, “Besides, the Fears are gone, they also left a mark. So many people will never have to deal with those things. These people are alive.”

They nod slowly before a short huff of breath follows and they slowly spell out, “A happy ending, Jonny,” his name sign, they all have one now, “Won’t be pleased.”

“I think he’s more than pleased,” Marius replies with a chuckle tilting his head at where Jonny is smiling as he wrestles Tim into the dirt, “Though I doubt we’ll be writing a whole album about this one.”

They hold up one finger.

Marius grins and says, “Just one song, the most noble quest of Lyfrassir Edda.”

They frown and Marius rolls his eyes and continues, “Fine, fine, The Bifrost Incident Part 2,” he says it in the exact same intonation Jonny does and they roll their eyes, “Or maybe something else entirely, spoken word?”

They hum before perking up as they catch sight of Sasha, Tim, and Martin, they look good, comfortable as they walk down the path. Sasha is smiling as she bumps her shoulder against Tim’s and Martin is practically beaming as he holds Tim’s other hand.

They wave to the others before pausing in front of their bench.

Lyfrassir rises slowly to their feet and before anyone can say anything, they fold the three of them into a hug.

Martin squeaks, Tim huffs a surprised laugh, but its Sasha who wraps her arms around them near instantly. They sink into their assistants embrace for a long moment before they pull back with a teary smile and sign, “I’m going to miss you all.”

Tim who learned BSL at one point or another relates their words to the others. Martin sniffs suddenly tearful and Sasha’s smile turns watery as she says, “We’re going to miss you too Jon.”

“What are you all going to do?” Marius asks curiously, he’s leaning back on the bench watching the four of them with fond eyes.

Tim shrugs with a chuckle and says, “Now that the Institute’s gone we’re all searching for jobs,” he says it with a smile not even a hint of something angry and it eases something inside Lyfrassir’s chest as he continues, “It was pretty convenient that Martin was listed as the next head and received a certain large sum. You wouldn’t have any idea how that happened would you?”

They shrug with as innocent an expression as they can muster.

The Institute was lost in a sudden earthquake, during well everything, it was fortunate no one was inside the building at the time. Even if it hadn’t been destroyed, its purpose was long gone. Along with it went Jonah Magnus’ body.

Sasha shakes her head and hits them lightly on the shoulder as she says, “Well however it happened it’s a good start. I suppose it will be nice not having to worry about eldritch fear gods.”

Lyfrassir’s expression falls for a fraction of a second but Sasha catches it and raises a brow, slowly, stumbling, they sign, “There might be some… after-effects. Keep an eye out. If there are any problems call us.”

“We will,” Martin promises once Tim’s finished translating, they smile their chest warm as Martin continues, “What about you all? What are you going to do now?”

“What we always do, adventures, fun, violence, more violence, tell a few stories along the way,” Marius replies glancing at Lyfrassir with a smile before he adds, “Of course I think we might take a bit of a vacation before all of that.”

“Won’t be much of a vacation with everyone there,” Lyfrassir signs with a grin tilting their head to where Tim is threatening Jonny again.

“We’ll survive,” Marius says with a fond shake of his head.

Lyfrassir returns their attention to their assistants and once more folds them into a hug, they try to press it into their memory, the feeling of sunlight on their shoulders, the breeze, Sasha’s perfume, Martin’s tears, Tim’s fingers scrunching up the back of their shirt.

“You’ll visit?” Sasha asks wiping at her eyes as they all step back.

Lyfrassir nods and signs, “We’ll try. Time is hard, give us a call anytime.”

Tim translates and Sasha rolls her eyes but nods folding them into another quick hug before she steps back and says, “We’ll miss you, Jon.”

“I’ll miss you all as well,” They sign, letting Tim pull them into a hug and then Martin. The three assistants stand before them, hands tangled with each other and Lyfrassir knows they will be okay, their lives will go on.

And so, will theirs, for however long they have it, there will be more stories to tell, more wars and stories of love, horror and wonder so tied together, it's hard to tell the difference. They will never again have to fear those words slipping from their lips, the Bifrost will follow them but it is not all they are. Their crew be together and that will be enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the ending this to fic, I wanted to find something that was a conclusion to everyone's narrative arcs. Comments are always super appreciated thank you all so much for reading!!


End file.
